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Events in the Two Lives of an Anti-Jewish Camel-Doctor. 



[c. 1951] 


This autobiographical effort is in two parts: the first deals with my experiences until 1 
retired from the Veterinary Profession in 1928; the second, with events in the political 
pioneering career that I carried on after that year by opposing the secret Jewish Power. It 
was not until 1946 that I thought seriously of publishing it. On reading one of the 
numerous "smearing" articles about myself in the political columns of newspapers, I 
learned that my career, "told in full, would read like an Oppenheim thriller", and then it 
struck me that although there was much doubt as to whether it was as bad as all that, 
there were possibly some rather unusual events in it which might interest the small 
proportion of the public that reads. 

For political reasons I have not mentioned in this book the names of most of my friends; 
and I hope my readers will not, therefore, attribute the fact that the word "I" too 
frequently occurs in the text to any want of modesty on my part; a man who has been in 
prison, with or without trial, for well over four years isn't likely to overestimate his own 
importance! I think that there will be many lovers of animals, veterinary surgeons 
amongst them, who may find something new to them, particularly in the first ten 
Chapters; whilst anyone concerned with political realism can learn a little from the 
experiences related in the second part of the book, since those experiences are rather 
unique. This, however, is neither a veterinary textbook nor a political treatise; it is simply 
an account of some of the things that happened to Your Humble Servant, 



1 thank the Editor of Country Life for permission to use three of my articles in that 
magazine, viz.: — Camels: Fiction and Fact; Mule Sense; and Toreador in Teesdale. 

I thank the Editor of Wide World Magazine for permission to use my article Bill of the 
Desert; and for kindly supplying the block for the photograph reproduced on Plate III (1). 

The Author. 


Chapter!. The Root of the Trouble ... 1 

n. A Slow Starter ... 3 

III. Into the Hard Cold World ... 8 

IV. Bill of the Desert ... 12 

V. Six Years of India ... 16 

VI. On the Equator ... 22 

VII. The First Great Slaughter ... 28 

VIII. Camels: Fiction and Fact ... 35 

IX. Mule Sense ... 38 

X. Private Practice ... 42 
XL Political Awakening ... 48 
Xn. The Jewish War ... 61 
XIII. The Cold War after the Hot One ... 70 


Page Frontispiece. The Author. 

Plate II. West Ham to Chingford Express ... 10 

ni. (l)Bill 12 

(2) Ata Mahomed, Bill, and friend 12 






(1) Vultures after a postmortem ... 17 

(2) On the Bridge of the Ship of the 

Desert 17 

One of the first cures of Camel-Surra 20 

Author joins up in World War I ... 27 

(1) Barry ("Knob"), our magnificent 

friend 45 

(2) With Nandy II 45 

The late H. H. Beamish 69 


A number of the original photographs from 
which the plates were taken, had faded. 

The Author. 
BORN 1878 — DIED 1956 



The Root of the Trouble. 

Surely, everyone who attempts to write an autobiography should give his readers an 
adequate ancestral background against which to judge him. 

Heredity always seemed to me to be a far more important factor in the basic character- 
formation of the individual than mere environment; it is one's forebears who hand down 
instinct, and what is instinct but hereditary memory born of fundamental experiences of 
past generations? 

I have been able, thanks to the collaboration of many distant relations, to trace my 
ancestry through many generations. But, of the Leese family itself, I have no knowledge 
beyond that of a great-grandfather, Joseph Leese, of Richmond Hill, Bowdon, whose 
dates were 1783 to 1 861 : he married the daughter of a John Harrison, of Burton, and had 
a considerable family of which my grandfather, Joseph, was the youngest and the only 
son. I knew my grandfather when I was a boy and stood in great awe of him, although he 
was kindness itself: the rather formal interviews which I had with him seldom ended 
without a silver coin being passed by him into one of my pockets and no doubt my shy 
reaction amused him a lot. He had a grand head out of which many improvements in 
machinery for cotton-mills had developed, and he had owned mills in Preston. He was a 
Liberal in politics, but a Liberal of very different calibre to that of the ones I see when I 
look around me now. He married the daughter of "Honest John Scurr", a Brazil merchant, 
and well I remember this gentle old lady who never could do enough for her 
grandchildren. My father, Spencer Leese, was the eldest son of their numerous family. 

The Leese family runs to a type which evidently has a strong prepotency: both sexes are 
generally tall, fair, blue-eyed, with heads broader than the typical Nordic average: any 
Mediterranean mixture by marriage soon seems to lose any trace; the general run of the 
family is of good intelligence with a strong sporting trend. 

The Scurr family derived from one of William the Conqueror's Knights who was given 
Beeston Castle, near Morley, Leeds; that is the only claim I have on the aristocracy! But I 
am perhaps unreasonably proud of being distantly connected to 



RICHARD OASTLER (1789-1861), the Factory King, the man who did the pioneering 
and rough street work in stopping the atrocious conditions under which child labour was 
then employed in the northern mills, a cause in which the Parliamentary activity was 
done by the Earl of Shaftesbury; Oastler's political enemies silenced him for a time by 
foreclosing on him for debt, and he was imprisoned in the Fleet for over three years; then 
his friends bought him out, and his return to Bradford was in the van of a procession a 
mile long. After his death, a bronze statue was erected in that town, with the simple 
inscription "Oastler", in which he is portrayed with two ragged children at his feet. 
Oastler was the grandson of the brother of my great-great-grandfather, Robert Scurr. I 
hope I may be excused for boasting such a slender relationship to so grand a man. Mr. 
Cecil Driver wrote a very fine biography of Oastler, naming it Tory Radical (Oxford 
University Press, New York, 1946). 

My mother was daughter of Charles Hudson, Coroner of Stockport, and of a sound 
Unitarian stock of Lancashire and Cheshire. In the Unitarian community, I always found 
a high standard of citizenship and sense of public duty. 

My uncle, Joseph Leese, was made a Baronet, having been Recorder of Manchester and 
Member of Parliament (Liberal) for Accrington; he and his brother, Ernest, played as 
amateurs in the Lancashire County Cricket Team and two of his sons were captains of the 
Winchester School cricket team. His grandson was Sir Oliver Leese, veteran of two 
world wars. 


A Slow Starter. 

My father was an artist, but he had a modest independent income on which he reared a 
large family. As a young man, he was of immense muscular strength and I still possess 
copies of photographs of him "in the raw", the most striking of which is a back view 
showing a physique of broad sloping shoulders and narrow waist which reminds me of 
nothing so much as a section of the Cantilever Bridge across the Firth of Forth. He could 
lift, with one hand, a dumb-bell weighing 160 lbs. and raise it at arm's length above his 
head. I remember how, when the family removed from Southport after his death, my 

mother gave this relic away to a local circus. I never could lift the thing even off the floor 
with one hand; it just forced my fingers open if I tried. On several occasions, my father 
had accepted challenges by professional weight-lifters, and had beaten them, with lucky 
results for local hospitals. But with all this strength, of which I seldom really was forced 
to feel the weight myself, he was of the most gentle disposition and a good family man. 
In his early married life, he took a keen interest in horses and his honeymoon was spent 
in the Lakes where he drove his own very smart four-in-hand. Later, he owned the well- 
known harness cob Rattler which won many prizes at shows all over the country. But 
these horsey days were all before my time, as I was a late arrival in a very large family. 

My mother was a very beautiful woman, a fact which I usually have to keep to myself, 
otherwise people are apt to crack the old joke, leaning forward, looking interestedly into 
my face to say: "Then it was your father who was not good-looking?" Her life was 
devoted entirely to the family and she taught us all to be civilised. Her eyes were blue and 
her hair was dark. I don't think any of us really knew what we owed to her until after she 
was dead. My parents lived in several places in the north, and before I was born there 
were already one son and five daughters. My eldest brother, Joe, was not a typical Leese; 
he was a strange mixture of scientist and musician and, as he was 13 years older than I 
was, we were never of much use to one another. Later in life, I found him so different in 
temperament and outlook to myself, that I decided the best policy to avoid a quarrel was 
to avoid him, which I did; and thank God, we never did quarrel. After him, every year or 


there came a sister, until five had appeared on the scene. Being thus so close together in 
age, they tended not to look outside the family for companionship and I believe they were 
very happy together. Then came a gap of four years and, at Lytham, in Lancashire, I was 
born in 1878. Four years later, we moved to Southport, where my early youth was spent. I 
was, perhaps, a lonely child and it is not an ideal condition for a small boy to have a large 
number of elder sisters and to be separated by more than four years from the youngest of 
them. I grew up in a very sheltered atmosphere, rather spoiled, selfish and with few 
attractive qualities as I can see them now! Remembering what I was myself as a child, I 
have never really been very fond of children ever since! I suppose I must have had 
redeeming features or all the others would not have always been so kind to me; but the 
only one I can recognise at this distance was a great and sympathetic love of animals 
which has been my joy throughout life. My first canine love was Gyp, a large white 
terrier and we grew up together. He wasn't really my dog, but my brother's: what Gyp 
didn't know about life in general wasn't really worth knowing; a wise dog, with a temper 
like an angel, and when his time came (a shattered leg) I knew tragedy. It has always 
been like that with me when my dogs have died. 

I was sent first to a dame school, where I kicked a girl on the ankle and was "kept in" for 
an hour, bellowing the whole time: later to a boys' day-school which bored me stiff. 

Finally, I was sent to Giggleswick School, Settle, Yorkshire, in which I spent five years 
receiving an apology for an education, but at least losing some of the worst effects of a 
too sheltered life at home. My father died just before my last term, and the family 
fortunes declined with a bang. I remember quite well how, even in these early days, I felt 
that my time at this school was really being wasted and that I was growing up in an 
atmosphere remote from the realities of ordinary existence. I felt acutely my own want of 
experience, but had not then the initiative to take matters into my own hands. 

My mother had to do the best she could; I was, myself, very slow to mature. It was 
unusual for a lad not to know the facts of life at the age of fifteen; I was a very innocent 
lad. Thinking it all for the best, she had me articled to a chartered accountant where I 
spent nearly three rather miserable years in the City. Then I woke up, decided that the 
totting up of the profits of others was not for me and, with the help of my dear old 
grandfather, overcame my mother's doubts and went into the Royal Veterinary College, 
Camden Town, to live my life with my beloved animals. I got scholarships three years 
out of the four, lifted thirteen first medals and spent my vacation with practising 
veterinary surgeons first as pupil, then as "improver" and, after that, as assistant. I had 
found my vocation, but had wasted three years. Well, perhaps they were not 


altogether to be written off as a loss; at least I got a fine training in two things: firstly, in 
sticking out a monotonous job; secondly, rapid and accurate casting up of figures. Both 
these, especially the first, have been of great use to me in after-life. To think that I once 
passed the Intermediate Examination for Chartered Accountants with Honours ! 

Whilst I was at the accountants' office (Messrs. Craggs, Turketine & Co.), my mother and 
the rest of the family were without a permanent home and I went to live as paying guest 
with Mr. W. H. King, in Hampstead; he was an ex-Public Works engineer pensioned 
from India and he was a fine man for me to be with in those days. There I met my 
ultimate fate in his youngest daughter. May Winifred, but she was only 12 years' old 
then! I think the only exciting experience I had in the City was when I got inside the 
police cordon during the great fire at London Wall; but great fires in London have since 
become common-place. 

About this time, I became aware of the fact that I had been suffering from astigmatism 
(with short sight) for many years. It is impossible now to make any estimate of the extent 
of this handicap; it meant that I had gone about without seeing a number of things which 
were within the range of normal sight, but beyond mine. However, I have much to thank 
my parents for in possessing a healthy body and an active brain. I had grown up well fed 
and had never known real hardship, and during my holidays had covered a large area of 
England and Wales; but I still felt that I had been sheltered too much and that I knew my 
country a great deal better than I knew my countrymen. However, from the time I began 
to go out "to see practice" in my vacations at the Veterinary College, I made up for lost 

time in that respect, because veterinary practice involves the treatment of owners as well 
as their animals! I always selected country practitioners with whom to serve, so as to 
obtain as much contact as possible with farm practice, and had many rough experiences 
which included concussion of the brain following a fall from a horse, with total 
obliteration from memory of about four days of my life. I also had the interesting 
experience of veterinary work with coal-pit ponies when I did "locum tenens" for a 
veterinary surgeon at Seaham Harbour; I used to descend the Seaham and Silksworth pits 
daily; each pit contained 400 ponies. They were, of course, shod cold, and there were 
more injuries than sickness. 

I had a younger brother, John Scurr Leese, born ten years later than myself with no other 
children in between, my parents having increased the population over a period covering 
twenty-five years! He, of course, was even more isolated from the others than I had been; 
he grew up a typical Leese, broke the high-jump 


record at his school and vanished for ever at Krithia, Gallipoli, where he was serving in 
the first World War as a private in the 6th Manchesters. When I look back, I realise that I 
hardly knew him: circumstances and difference in age prevented it. 

When I was a small boy I had made a bet with my sister, Nora, that I would neither drink 
nor smoke until I was of age: on my 21st birthday I claimed the sum and was duly paid. 
These so-called abstemious habits were retained throughout my life; during adolescence 
1 was free from a drain on scanty pocket-money for one thing and I grew up with sound 
heart and lungs, and never missed a single Rugby Football match when at the Veterinary 
College, always being able to play as hard in the last five minutes as I did in the first. 
During these early days, I was quite unconscious of any feeling that I was missing 
anything by abstention; I abstained because I could not see why I should drug myself just 
because other people did, and I did not make a virtue of it; if I had, at any time of my life, 
seen any tangible advantage in mild indulgence both in tobacco or alcoholic 
"refreshment", I would have resorted to these things; but to this day I have never been 
able to discover that anyone was ever a whit happier or better for them, and, to put it 
bluntly, I think both habits are just "damned silly" where ordinary healthy men and 
women are concerned. I don't think I could ever have really afforded them, as I had to 
make my own way from the time I was able to write the letters M.R.C.V.S. after my 
name. What I have often resented were gratuitous hints from the drugged that I must not 
consider myself morally superior to them because I was a non-smoker and an abstainer, 
because I never did, at least on that account! I wasn't morally superior, at all; I was just 
undrugged. I represented the normal; they represented the abnormal, and whose fault was 
that? Surely, not mine? That is how it seemed to me. To them, I was abnormal and they 
were normal! I think history records that England was at its best when it knew nothing of 
tobacco . . . and had no Jews. Whilst I am on this subject, I will finish with it. If I had my 
time to come over again, I would still leave both drugs alone. The only disadvantage in so 

doing is that one has sometimes to face impudent remarks from strangers who hint that if 
you neither drink nor smoke, you must have some horrible hidden vice. This is hard to 
bear, and I found that the best way of dealing with the nuisance was not to attempt to hide 
my resentment. In India, I was told I would be dead in three months if I didn't drink: what 
rubbish! My six years spent in that country were more filled with real physical hardship, I 
think, than any other European there had to endure, and I came away better in health than 
when I arrived! I belong to no society of any kind for reform in the matter of drink or 
smoking: let everyone decide for himself as he thinks best on 


the subjects, but I think that the bovine complacency with which John Bull allowed 
himself to be reduced to a second-class Power by engaging in a wholly unnecessary war 
in 1939 is partly explicable by these drug habits, which I think are superlatively silly. 


Into the Hard Cold World. 

Although I had, during my college career, a large number of temporary spells of 
"independence" when working with veterinary surgeons in the vacations, the Summer of 
1903 brought my diploma and full professional status, and the first thing I did was to 
become an Assistant to a firm of Veterinary Surgeons, Messrs. Batt & Sons, of Oxford 
Street, London. In those days, there were few cars, and London's traffic — 'bus, cab, 
commercial and private — was all horse-drawn. There were four qualified veterinary 
surgeons in the practice, two being the partners who owned it; the other Assistant at the 
time was the afterwards very well-known Veterinary Surgeon, Mr. Guy Sutton. We were 
kept busy all day long, driving all over West London to our equine patients. We were 
often called out to accidents in the streets and on such occasions I found it necessary to 
force my way through crowds of spectators, every one of whom, I gathered, knew what to 
do much better than I did. I became very expert at handling heavy and partly inert bodies, 
placing, roping, extending or folding the limbs so that the poor beast would rise under his 
own strength. This is a fine art which isn't taught in books and needs great strength, 
particularly when a horse has gone down in a narrow stall. In the street, there is more 
room; often when we found the animal could not rise from the side it was down on. we 
would turn it over on its back to the other side, when, with help it could generally rise to 
its feet. On one occasion, Sutton was beaten over the head with an umbrella by an angry 
old woman in the crowd who thought his well-meant efforts to assist his patient were 

The two assistants took on the night-work on alternate nights, and there was plenty of it, 
too. Those were the days when people drove to theatres in broughams and on cold nights 
horses would catch colds waiting for their owners to emerge from places of 
entertainment. I had a telephone just over my bed, and seldom it was when it did not ring 

at least once on my duty nights. But I kept a spirit lamp and kettle ready, and could 
always make myself tea whilst dressing to go out to a case. When the off-duty nights 
came, I could leave work at 5 p.m. which enabled me, living as I did just off Berkeley 
Square, to see everything worth seeing that was going on in London. 

I often wonder how the modern veterinary student can ever 


become a good horse clinician in the absence of the huge equine population that gave us 
of the old school such experience. A good equine practitioner was rather like a 
specialised Sherlock Holmes, who could take in all sorts of observations whilst hardly 
knowing he did it, and come swiftly to a correct diagnosis or prognosis. It was always the 
clinical work that interested me more than the scientific side; I liked to be with the 
animals and to study them so that no detail escaped me: veterinary patients seldom tell 
lies, but it takes close detective training to appreciate fully and quickly the meaning of 
their various signals of distress. I believe I was a good horse clinician; I was also strong 
on what I called "acrobatic surgery", which consisted of performing some slight surgical 
operation and springing out of reach before the animal had time to realise that anything 
had been done to him. I was only caught twice in my whole life: once when a horse 
kicked me just above the knee and once when a cow nearly tore my ear off with a hind 
foot. I always liked practice with dogs and cats, chiefly because I loved the animals 
themselves. Nowadays, a practice like Batt's then was, is simply unknown anywhere: so 
much have times changed! 

After nearly a year of this, I was offered a much better job in the East End of London, 
managing a practice for a deceased veterinary surgeon's executors in West Ham, with a 
branch at Chingford, in Essex. This was worked with two horses and the long journey of 
seven miles between the two practices had to he done without any payment from clients. I 
was there for three years: there was a lot of night work, because I used to be night-man 
for many of Tillings' horses worked by Oil Companies at the East India docks. I 
remember how I used to cross Plaistow marsh in my trap at night with a twitch-stick 
handy at my side, for policemen went about in pairs in these parts. One of my ponies had 
been imported as a polo pony, but would not play; it was a grey mare and her peculiarity 
was a form of jibbing which as liable to take place if she was suddenly pulled up sharp 
for any cause, as behind waiting traffic at a crossroads. On these occasions, the pony 
would lose all control, backing for a number of yards, then rearing up and even coming 
over backwards which, of course, always smashed a shaft. After one or two such hair- 
raising adventures, I developed such tact in quietly pulling up behind traffic that she 
never gave me any more trouble; but I used to go away once a year for a Holiday and 
whenever I came back, I found the "locum" had had one of these shaft-smashing 
experiences in spite of my warnings. Another thing which upset this pony and started a 
jibbing exhibition was my holding a conversation with some patient's owner by the side 
of the trap just before jumping in to drive off so I developed a system which cut all that 
out. Although this jibbing was a "vice" in the horsey sense of the word, I am convinced 
that it was nothing but "nerves", a 


habit probably formed as the result of fright or ill-treatment when being broken in. 
Anyhow, tact eliminated it. The pony was so valuable in other ways that an occasional, 
new shaft was a detail: you could not tire her, even with thirty-five miles, and in 
Walthamstow and Leyton, when coming back from Chingford, we often overtook and 
passed the electric trams of that day, and we must have been a remarkable sight "going 
hell for leather", with the trap full of dog-patients for our infirmary at West Ham. 

In the East End of London, the chief event of life in some classes of the inhabitants 
seemed, to use an Irishism, to be one's funeral. Big Flemish black horses were imported 
for use in these: they came in as three-year-olds and went straight to their work at that 
age; they could stand it, because, of course, they never really did any hard work at all. 
Sometimes I had to examine these new purchases as to soundness and the only way to 
test their wind was to drive them up a long hill in a hearse! These animals are very soft- 
hearted in sickness; the same remark applies to the popular Percheron horse; these 
continental horses definitely have a different sort of courage as compared with our native 
breeds. As an equine clinician. I found this interesting; I do not understand why it should 
be, but I know that when I am dealing with a Flemish horse or a Percheron, I can discount 
certain signals of distress which would be sinister signs in a Shire. For instance, after a 
bout of colic, the foreign horses will anticipate another attack by betraying certain 
symptoms of pain when no pain exists and no further attack is coming, moreover. The 
equine practitioner can always tell these cases by a brief examination of the pulse. The 
English horse goes back to the manger soon after the pain leaves him, nuzzling about for 

In those days, London used to have frightful dense yellow fogs in the winter. I well 
remember finding myself driving up the West Ham Free Library steps in one of these. 
Another time I was called out in a particularly dense fog to a horse which had fallen, 
waggon and all, into a tidal dyke in the West Ham Gas Works: his head was just above 
water and the tide was coming in. Quickly we lit flares on the banks of the dyke, so that 
we could see; the animal was freed of its harness in the icy cold water; a rope was passed 
in a fixed loop over the head so that the knot was under the jaw; two quiet horses were 
used for traction on this and out of the water and up the bank came our patient, still on his 
side and with his legs sticking out stiffly as though frozen. Brisk massage, a good dose of 
rum, and the usual manipulation of the body in such cases, got the animal to his feet and 
he was slowly walked home with three men on each side to keep him on his legs. He 
made a quick recovery . . . but probably would not have done if his value had exceeded 
ten pounds ! 


Plate II. West Ham to Chingford Express. 


I then decided that the motor-car would oust the horse within my professional life-time 
and that the prospects in horse-practice were not good enough for a man who had a 
competence to make. I had about £400 saved and I determined to take a post-graduate 
course at the Veterinary College to make myself quite up-to-date on the scientific side of 
the work. This took two months and then I obtained a post in the Indian Civil Veterinary 
Department. Prior to sailing, I had about six weeks to put in, which I did as manager of 
the Brown Animal Institute, where the sick animals of the poor were treated free and 
which was situated just south of the Thames, near Vauxhall. 

I had brought away from West Ham a bull-terrier pup named Bill; he was destined to be 
my closest companion for several strange years and deserves a chapter to himself. 



Bill of the Desert. 

Reprinted from "The Wide Wide World", February 1949, 
by kind permission. 

Bill wouldn't have taken a prize at any serious dog-show. All the same, he could never 
have been mistaken for anything else but a bull-terrier. His mother was the most 
ferocious specimen of the breed that I have ever met with and was kept (usually on the 
chain) by a West Ham publican from whom Bill was purchased at two years' old for one 
pound sterling. 

He grew into a formidable, but sweet-tempered dog, active and strong, with plenty of 
bone, well furnished with muscle. As from the first he lived with me day and night, he 
became — well, just what a dog of that sort naturally becomes to a man who had yet no 
other love. 

The first year of his life was realty uneventful, except that when we moved from West 
Ham to Vauxhall, he broke out next morning and disappeared. He came back in the 
evening; but we found he had actually been as far as Waterloo Bridge, all through a busy 
part of London entirely strange to him, so it was clear that he wasn't a dog that would 
easily get lost! 

After two months of Vauxhall, I went out East to investigate camel diseases for the 
Indian Government and, of course. Bill came, too. We went out in the hot weather, an 
unusual season in which to send newcomers out to India and our ship was almost empty 
of passengers. Bill travelled in a special kennel on the poop, and the Captain allowed me 
to exercise him on the well-deck. Bill was keenly interested in the North African coast 
and was never sea-sick, even when the Monsoon, in the Indian Ocean, sent spray and 
even at times a wave over his kennel. In the Red Sea, we had the uncommon sea- 
experience of a flight of locusts over the ship, and their pink bodies hopping about the 
deck were a source of great excitement to Bill, who killed and ate a large number. 

There followed a punishing train journey from Bombay to Lahore in June, and then I was 
sent straight up into the hills for a preliminary study. On my arrival in the Himalayas, and 
knowing nothing of the ways of natives, I got a sweeper to wash Bill clean 


Plate III. (1) Bill 

k,-:. i^'J 

Plate III. (2) Ata Mahomed, Bill, 
and friend 


after the stifling days of dirty travel by rail and road through the mid-summer hell of the 
Indian plains. The man did that all right but left him in the sun and cold wind to dry. The 
result was that Bill went down with rheumatic fever. I and a fellow-veterinary friend 
worked night and day for ten days on a patient who could not move without a squeal of 
agony and who could do nothing for himself. Somehow, we got him through, but it was a 
very weak bull-terrier that went down to the plains with me and then back into the hills to 
the Veterinary Research Laboratories, 7,500 feet up in the Himalayas. 

Here I was calmly informed that dogs were not allowed it our living quarters to which I 
replied, with some heat, that I had not come from civilisation to mid-Asia to be separated 
from my dog, and the matter dropped. 

Soon after, I got carte blanche to get on with my job, so down we went into the plains, 
which we rarely left again. My work was field research in the most empty parts of North- 
west India and had to get particularly busy at the worst season of the year, when luckier 
men could go into the hills. We travelled almost constantly my mounts being horse or 
camel according to the nature of jungle or desert through which we were passing. Bill, 
now in vigorous health, travelled on his sturdy limbs, accompanying the baggage camels 
that move at 21/2 miles per hour. When possible, to avoid the heat, we moved at night and 
in the early morning. It was hard life with brief intervals of comparative comfort when 
we reached a rest-house. 

Bill and I suffered about equally from the dry heat, but it was he who rushed out into the 
first downpour of the Monsoon racing and splashing through the puddles uttering squeaks 
of joy in the sensation of being cool at last. 

Bill's travelling life was full of incident. One nuisance was experienced in the habits of 
pariah dogs. These ownerless curs, of all sizes, have regular beats like policemen in the 
villages they infest. No stranger dog can encroach upon another pariah's beat, which 
usually provides offal for the bare existence of one dog only. If a stranger dog is sighted, 
the pariahs of a village unite to liquidate him. Thus, when Bill, rolling along by the side 
of the baggage-camels, with tongue lolling, approached a village, one might see 
converging upon him a number of streaks of dust, indicating the rapid advent and 
onslaught of the pariahs of the place. Bill hardy ever started a fight, but was good at 
finishing one. Not for Bill the tactics of the pariah and the wolf — slash and break away! 
Singling out the most formidable opponent, he took hold and stayed where he held, using 
his weight as perhaps his mother had taught him. 



His tactics defeated dogs twice his size, like the big Pathan sheep-dogs of the North-West 
Frontier. It was the foot of his opponent to which he attached himself as soon as he could. 
Then he would worry and pull away with his compact weight so that his antagonist could 
never close with him. It was wicked to see, but it is passing strange how he learned this 
trick; did he discover it by accident, or did he think it out? Occasionally, when he had a 
number of opponents, he got badly gashed, and I was always on my guard for the first 
signs of Rabies which happily never arrived. 

Sometimes, when we crossed rivers, I would take Bill up on the saddle with me, but more 
often he swam them himself alter we had crossed. 

Bill was a fearless, but tactful guard. The presence of Bill in my tent allowed me to sleep 
soundly in lonely places along the North-West Frontier which he and I travelled from 
Shabkadar to Dera Ghazi Khan. 

Once he was lost in the desert. I had gone ahead on a riding-camel and arrived at a well 
(our destination) several hours before the baggage-camels with which were my servants 
in charge of Bill. My bearer, greatly agitated, reported that Bill had disappeared ten miles 
back where there was thick scrub in the desert: "chasing a pig," he said. It looked black 
for Bill. Fortunately, I had a good map; after considering the position, I found there were 
two other wells within twenty miles from the approximate place where Bill had gone off. 
With a sinking heart, but somehow banking on the dog's intelligence and instinct in 
making for water, I sent a camel-man to each of those wells with instructions to wait all 
night and start back at 9 a.m. to report. In those parts, a dog lost for 24 hours is a dog lost 
for ever. But, sure enough, next day one of the men returned leading his camel with one 
hand, and a weary, hungry Bill with the other. Somehow, he had found his way to the 
water. Ours was a rapturous meeting. 

Bill's relations with camels were always friendly, though sometimes wanting in delicacy. 
On rare occasions, at the eastern end of our immense "beat", he met with elephants; 
unfamiliarity with these monsters made him aggressive and noisy, so, as he was quite 
without fear, it was considered a wise prophylactic measure to remove him as early as 
possible from their vicinity. 

My bearer had a monkey; a quaint fellow who would jump from any reasonable height, 
say, the top of a bungalow, into my arms where he liked to sit, peering expectantly, from 
time to time, up my nostrils. Sometimes, after I had been cooling myself in the bath-tub, 
the monkey would take my place, swimming round and round under water and coming 
up occasionally to breathe. When 



he came out, with his hair plastered down over his skull, he reminded me irresistably of a 
certain old acquaintance called — well, never mind! After the first tactful introduction. 
Bill accepted the monkey as "one of us"; he treated it as he would a human child, which 
he probably thought it was. He liked to feel the busy investigating fingers in his coat, and 
only mildly remonstrated when they pressed open his eyelids when he wanted to sleep. 

In that half-wild life, even Bill's dinner wasn't always safe. Once he was discussing a 
bone in front of the tent, but had not observed the presence of two crows in a tree close 
by. One of these alighted a yard in front of Bill's nose, inviting inevitable attack, which 
Bill at once jumped forward to make, dropping his bone. In a flash. Crow No. 2 swooped 
on the bone, and the two cunning villains went off to share it together. One could not help 
admiring them for their sporting co-operation, so exquisitely timed. 

Mahomedans are taught by their religion to regard dogs as unclean animals. However, 
my chief Veterinary Assistant, Ata Mahomed, a devout Mussalman and a kindly and 
observant lover of animals, saw something in Bill that wasn't written in the Koran. He 
loved him and would sometimes squat on the verandah with his arm round him, talking to 

After about two years of this sort of life, I woke up one night with a start, feeling 
something was wrong. It was. Bill was not on the bed. I lit the lantern and found him 
under the bed, hardly conscious; he died five minutes later. I expect it was valvular 
trouble, a legacy of the rheumatic fever. He took a bit of me with him, I think. It was Ata 
Mahomed who arranged his burial, and even photographed it for me to see afterwards; it 
was Ata Mahomed who had a grave dug which was so engineered with stones that the 
most clever jackal could never penetrate it. There we left Bill of the Desert with a stone 
to mark the place — "for ever England" — where his bones certainly still lie. 

And I went on, alone. 



Six Years of India. 

My job was the investigation of camel diseases; it was unusual to send men out to India 
to arrive in the middle of the hottest, season, and as soon as I reached Lahore in the 
Punjab, I was instructed to go up into the "hills" (the Himalayas) for two months, and 
spend my time learning Hindustani and also reading up anything that was known about 
camels and their principal plague. Surra or Trypanosomiasis. This I did and passed my 
Lower Standard language examination at the end of the time. I was destined for work far 
from the haunts of white men, and it would have been quite useless to go into the wilds 
with anything less than this very minimum qualification. 

Then I was sent to Kathgodam, at the foot of the hills below Naini Tal, to study Surra 
which affected the tonga (fast horse transport) service between the two places named. 
This was in early October and I was not long in making my first discovery of importance. 
It was known that the big horse-flies called Tabanus were capable of transmitting the 
disease from one animal to another, and part of my job was to make a fly-survey of the 
road. The instructions I had been given were that the disease was spread only at one 
season of the year, namely October to December. I soon found, however, that any ponies 
infected with Surra at this time had been ill for weeks and even months and that no fresh 
cases were now appearing; I found, too, that Tabanus was conspicuous by its absence, 
whilst the other common biting-fly, Stomoxys, which was also under suspicion, was still 
very prevalent. My conclusion was that I was starting work too late in the season, and I 
reported to my seniors that f thought it would be found that it was in July, August and 
September that the disease was spread, and that investigation would probably show that 
this season, not the later one, would coincide with the presence of large numbers of 

Tabanus flies. This was later proved to be the case and, of course, revolutionised the 
whole of the routine preventive measures. I also showed that in spite of its prevalence, 
the biting-fly, Stomoxys, had not apparently been able to maintain the plague beyond the 
Tabanus season which was much the shorter 

After a brief stay in the Muktesar Imperial Laboratory, magnificently situated 7,500 feet 
above sea-level right opposite the first great wall formed by the mass of the Himalayan 
mountains, I 


.-■jAi-T,- "'V^^"'^'^ 

Plate rv. (1) Vultures after a postmortem. 


'.- VSV; •-•*'; ^ V i*- . 

Plate IV. (2) On the Bridge of the Ship 
of the Desert. 


left for the Punjab plains to work at first with the eight Silledar Camel Corps which were 
distributed all over the province. Whilst working there in the jungle I got my first bout of 
malaria. My experience with this complaint was short and swift: I took 30 grains of 
Quinine immediately, and continued until I deafened myself with the drug; then I 
stopped. It is a fact that from that day to this I never had another attack of malarial fever, 
in spite of unavoidable and frequent exposure to the Anopheles mosquito during the next 
eight years. Whether the malarial organism is particularly vulnerable to Quinine at its 
very first onset, I do not know, but it certainly seems like it. 

I spent the cold weather getting all the experience I could with my strange new patients 
and decided that my most active days would have to be between the months of June and 
October, just when the plains were most unbearable; the reason was that Surra spreads 
only during that season in most parts of the Indian camel-country, although the sick 
animals may carry the disease from one season to the next, thus acting as reservoirs for 
the Tabanus to tap at the beginning of its season. This was not altogether a pleasant 
prospect, and was complicated by the fact that most camels go far into the desert at that 
season and are all the more difficult to get at. But my teeth were in the job, and I was 
immensely interested. 

Postmortem work on camels which had died from unrecognised causes was, of course, a 
fruitful source of information, but there were great practical difficulties to be overcome, 
and sometimes when an outbreak of some camel-disease had occurred, I would travel 
even hundreds of miles (by rail and in the saddle) to arrive at the scene before the fierce 
sun had made conditions impossible. Often, after we had finished an autopsy, we would 
look round to find seemingly the whole population of North-West India's vultures in a 
circle of which we were the centre, waiting on the ground for us to leave the carcase to 
them. When they got to work, one could not see the carcase for vultures and often in the 
midst of them, tearing away at the meat for dear life, would be a number of pariah dogs; 
neither vulture nor dog seemed to have any animosity towards one another. Sometimes, 
rather than lose a chance of discovering something by a postmortem, we would tackle it 
far from a water-supply and that was grisly work. 

It was often necessary to examine the blood of as many as a hundred camels at a sitting 
under the most appalling conditions; the blood was easily obtained by squeezing a drop 
out of a very slight nick in the ear of the animal on to a slide. The microscope had, 
sometimes, to be on the ground and I am surprised that no great injury appears to have 
resulted to my eyesight in this trying work in the blinding glare of an Indian sun. 



I soon took a dislike to the social conventions which ruled station life in India, but as all 
my work was in the jungle and desert, I rarely stayed more than a couple of nights in a 
city, staying just long enough to take in a fresh stock of stores for another long trip in the 
"out back". Travelling was by horse or camel, and I soon reduced my baggage to a 
minimum which surprised some of the other officers I met on tour. I had two assistants, 
graduates of the Lahore Veterinary College: one of these was a Mahommedan, Ata 
Mahommed, the other a Sikh, Kahan Singh; they were splendid workers, with their hearts 
in the business at hand. Ata Mahommed, particularly, was a most determined character 
who resolutely refused to let our difficulties beat us. I was lucky also lit my servant, a 
Mahommedan who stuck to me throughout my six years in the country; and he certainly 
saw a great deal of it during the time. I was very happy in my relations with my superior 
officer, the Inspector-General of the Civil Veterinary Department, and I had the 
advantage of being an Imperial and not a Provincial official. Colonel Pease (for that was 
his name) never said "No" to me once he was satisfied that I meant business: I used to 
propose to him what I thought the next step should be and he would just say "Carry on". 
This was lucky, as I have always been impatient of discipline. It is often said that unless 
you can stand discipline yourself, you can't discipline others; I do not believe a word of 
it! I am not speaking of army and navy service, of course, but I am sure it is not true in 
the rough life of the pioneer. 

I arranged that the next Surra season should be spent in a known zone of the disease and 
that the principal work should be done with the use of ponies; ultimately the road from 
Saharanpur to Dehra Dun was chosen and I secured the use of a forest bungalow at 
Mohand, just where the highway entered the Siwalik hills. This place was known to be 
pretty certain death for tongs-ponies at that season. I arrived some time before the 
monsoon would bring out the flies, partly so that I could make a proper comparison 
between the fly conditions in the dry heat and those in the damp, but partly so that I could 
buy some ponies, build a stable and prepare mosquito nets on a large scale to protect 
certain of the ponies. We took several camels with us, which had chronic Surra; this to 
make sure that a source of infection would be present; and we had a number of white rats 
and white mice on which to investigate the various kinds of biting-flies' transmitting 
powers. As the place was very malarial, being surrounded by thick jungle full of all sorts 
of wild beasts, including elephant and tiger, I arranged a bamboo cubicle which, when 
covered with mosquito netting, enabled me to have my meals and evenings in peace. I did 
no shooting: I dislike killing animals except for food, and my business there was to do 
work. I used to keep fit by long walks with my bull-terrier companion. 



To cut a long story short, we proved that ponies protected through the whole Surra season 
by mosquito netting, yet otherwise in close contact with Surra-infected animals, remained 
free from the disease, whilst all the unprotected ponies contracted it. We also obtained a 
lot of information as to the relative capacity of the different genera of biting-flies to 
transmit Surra from one animal to another. 

Armed with this definite knowledge, I returned to the Punjab to spend the next five years 
entirely on camel problems. It was a hard life, but I had a free hand, travelled widely all 
over North-West India, because it is the relative weakness of the monsoon rains in that 
area which makes it possible for an animal like the camel to exist there as a servant to 
man. I ranged over the North-West Frontier, Sind, Baluchistan, Bahawalpur, Bikanir and 
all the Punjab, and I had friendly arrangements with all the Camel Corps Commanders 
who notified me by telegram of anything that happened within their ken which they 
considered might yield information with investigation. 

Everything pertaining to the proper management of the camel, his breeding and feeding, 
down to the identity and seasonal value of the bushes he grazed upon, was my business. 
In the first few Surra seasons, I was travelling light through the monsoon in the steaming 
plains when men who considered themselves luckier were recuperating in the hills. I had 
to cover as much ground as possible so as to detect the different areas which were 
reasonably safe from Tabanus so that Camel Corps men could use them for grazing their 
animals in the Surra season. This work took me very far afield and there are few of the 
desert areas in North India that I am not familiar with. But whilst doing this work and 
everything else which cropped up, I noticed that the areas most infested with this fly were 
characterised by the presence or predominance of certain species of vegetation, which 
seemed to require for their development the same conditions of heat and moisture as the 
fly. This enabled me to use winter months in which to detect the worst Surra zones: this 
was done by checking up the grazing bushes, trees and plants which associated 
themselves with Tabanus country; one could thus detect in the winter season an area 
which, in the rains, would be a Surra zone. Meanwhile, the practicability of specific 
curative treatment of camels with trypanosomiasis had to be investigated and this work 
required some sort of headquarters. I established the centre first at Sohawa, just north of 
the Salt Range, in the Punjab; it was not a Surra zone; it was on the railway and Grand 
Trunk Road, and so was handy for communications and a sufficiency of camel-grazing 
was available. But for several years we could not get the Government to build suitable 
quarters for this 



centre and I had to live in tents until, at last, they did. It was known at this time that 
certain arsenical drugs were capable of banishing the trypanosomes from the blood of 
animals, although after a few days' absence they would return: in some species of animal 
there had been occasional cures. With such drugs as were then available, it was almost a 
case of finding out how much and by what method the trypanosome could be finally 
killed without damaging the animal patient. This monotonous work, however, was 
tackled and in 1910, by a fairly long treatment, we had 50 per cent, cured by certain 
treatments; similar results were being obtained in Egypt. These treatments were gradually 
improved upon until by some methods majority cures could be obtained, and after I left 
India the methods were developed until one could rely on a 90 per cent. cure. Meanwhile, 
in the laboratories of Europe, organic area compounds were being investigated and 

ultimately one was found, called "Naganol", which, in suitable dose, will give 100 per 
cent, cures of uncomplicated cases in the camel. The whole problem of Surra in the camel 
has been revolutionised by means of this easy and certain cure. In the early days of my 
work at Sohawa, there was no recognised length of time after treatment at which an 
animal could be pronounced certainly cured, so we had to examine our camels' blood 
daily for periods up to one year before we could properly announce our first successes. 

Needless to say, when I became entitled to some leave, I was very ready for it. By this 
time, I had decided that I would not stay in India for a pension; Indianisation of the 
services was obviously coming, and I had no time for that. Having no ties at home, it 
seemed a good opportunity to see something of Australia, so I spent this three months' 
leave in the sophisticated parts of Victoria and New South Wales. On this trip, I did not 
go "out back" as I had had my fill of that in India and wanted a change; I gave two 
lectures on the Camel at the Melbourne Veterinary College; otherwise, I just "enjoyed 
myself". My second leave was taken lust before I gave notice to the Government of India 
that I had decided to leave its service. This was also spent in Australasia and. during it, I 
travelled right into the heart of Western Australia and also as far as Port Augusta in South 
Australia, to see for myself the conditions under which camels lived and worked there. I 
had thought of taking up land in the back-blocks and breeding camels there when I had 
finished with India; but I decided that the future of gold-mining was too precarious for 
such a long-term venture. On this trip I also visited New Zealand, chiefly for sight- 
seeing, and had a grand time in that exciting country; I worked down from Auckland 
through the volcanic districts to the Wanganui River and Wellington: then, in the South 
Island, I went to Christchurch and contacted the Government Veterinary Surgeons there 
to my 


Plate V. One of the first cures of Camel-Surra. 


great professional advantage; I left New Zealand at Invergordon, regretting that I had not 
enough time to go over the passes to Milford Sound. Thence I went to Tasmania, and 
through that island back to Melbourne and to India. Soon after arrival in Sohawa, I gave 
my three months' notice and, in due course, in February, 1912, 1 left for home, from 
which I had been absent six years. 

The Indian Government had been ready to employ me in investigation work on elephants, 
a job which I might have found attractive had I been fresh from some temperate climate. 
But I felt that it would be difficult to become expert on such a subject unless I could live 
on the job for at least three hundred years, and as this wasn't likely, and I had no desire to 
leave a job on which I really was expert to take on one at which I could not see how an 
ordinary lifetime could provide enough experience to get one out of an amateur status, I 
decided I would stick to camels. I foresaw intense interest in comparing the camel 
conditions in other countries with those of India. On the way home, I stayed two weeks in 
Egypt, sight-seeing and looking for jobs; two of the latter were available, but they were 
not what I wanted, and I went on home to see the family once more. 



On the Equator. 

When in India, I had saved most of my pay and so now I had enough income for bare 
subsistence, which gave me the independent feeling which was so important an item in 
what I regarded as a happy existence. I had been used to sending my money home, from 
time to time, for my Uncle Ernest, who was a stockbroker, to invest for me, which he did 
with good judgment. I told him that what I wanted was a small safe regular income so 
that, if necessary, I could say boo to a goose. I was in excellent health and, of course, a 
master of my job. After looking about for two months or so, I joined the Veterinary 
Department of the East Africa (now called Kenya) Government in a specialist capacity as 
Camel Officer. It was intended that I should make my headquarters at a place called 
Marsabit, which was an extinct volcano on the corner of one of the big Game Reserves, 
about 2,000 feet high and 200 miles from anywhere. There I was to establish, in addition 
to my camel work, a station for testing imported Abyssinian ponies for glanders. 

Before sailing, I visited the King family who were then at Southsea, and became engaged 
to my old friend. May Winifred King; and it was intended that as soon as I had found my 
feet in Africa, she should join me there. 

However, God disposes and things turned out differently. When I arrived at Nairobi, the 
capital, I found that ivory poachers from Abyssinia had murdered a District 
Commissioner not far from Marsabit, and the Government did not regard that place as 
safe for me to use as intended. I was side-tracked to Jubaland instead, which is the desert 
country west of the River Juba which comes down from Abyssinia and flows into the 
Indian Ocean ten miles north of Kismayu. To get there, I had to go down from Nairobi to 
Mombasa and take a small coasting vessel. 

Jubaland is truly Godforsaken, and the equator itself runs through it close to the mouth of 
the River. It is hot at all seasons and low-lying; it is malarial wherever desert conditions 
do not obtain. Most of it is desert, but the track to the north is never far from the river. It 
was no place for a white woman. Up-country life had to be lived in ramshackle wooden 
huts, and the only produce of the desert was livestock. On the other hand, there was game 
in plenty and on tour one shot one's own meat-supply. The menu 



could be dik-dik (a small antelope about the size of a whippet), guineafowl, junglefowl, 
bustard, partridge, duck (where there were lakes from the river-overflow in the rains), and 
sandgrouse, which could be got at 6 a.m. by waiting at any waterhole at that time. Owing 
to the prevalence of the acacia known as the "wait-a-bit" thorn, through which it was 
impossible to force oneself without having one's few clothes ripped off, it was not good 
stalking country and it was only seldom that the bigger game, such as gerenuk, lesser 

kudu and oryx could be bagged. Lion abounded and were often heard grunting around the 
thorn-bush camp protection (sariba) at night. Stores had to be well calculated, for nothing 
of that sort could be obtained up-country. The Somali population away from the river was 
all nomad and the only villages, often inhabited by the descendants of run-away slaves, 
were by the river-bank. Mails were slow and scarce, coming by native runner (if one 
lived at Serenli) 200 miles as the crow flies. 

The frontier was patrolled and guarded by the King's African Rifles, and there was a 
mounted unit on camels about 100 strong, the men being Sudanese chiefly, recruited 
from the defeated enemy at Omdurman (and therefore getting a little long in the tooth) 
and the camels imported from Arabia, for Jubaland does not produce riding-camels. All 
heavy transport work was done by the native baggage-camel, which was on the small 
side; the load was only about 250 lbs. and as the camels are chiefly kept for food, there 
are no large numbers of trained baggagers and many of the animals used by the military 
were rather wild from lack of handling. 

The riverbank was infested with tse-tse flies for a stretch of about 300 miles between 
Yonte and Selagli and all camel-transport had to be hurried through this part of the route 
north, often doing 30 miles at night between 6 p.m. and 6 a.m. during which time the tse- 
tse is considerably less active than in the morning after dawn or the evening before dark. 
The sun rose at 6 a.m. and set at 6 p.m. nearly all the year round. In twelve hours, camels 
under loads can just do the 30 miles at their normal pace. When they reach camp, that 
camp has to be situated at a spot far enough from the river to be out of reach of tse-tse 
and Tabanus. 

I was never very happy during the 18 months I spent in this country; I had not "clicked" 
with my superior, at Nairobi, the Chief Veterinary Officer; I think we both heartily 
disliked one another at sight. Of course, I was very independent of him in Jubaland, but 
the conditions in that country were pretty impossible in those days for any sort of 
research. My job was mainly to survey camel-routes for flies so that commanding- 
officers could be instructed how and where and when to march their animals. The 



camel had to take first place, and the necessary night-marching was very hard on the 
human element. I did so much turning night into day myself that when I left Jubaland, at 
the end of 1914, 1 slept very badly at night nearly all through the First World War. This 
work was preventive and not of enormous interest, but I derived a good deal of 
professional information from the many opportunities I had in comparing the conditions I 
observed with the Indian ones I had left behind. 

On one occasion I was travelling up the right bank of the Juba river when I got lost in the 
bush. I was walking about a quarter of a mile ahead of the baggage-camel convoy and 
just after sunrise. I had shot some game for the day's food, and left the victims in the 

middle of the track for the first camelman to pick up and load on to his animal. How on 
earth I got off the track I do not know, except that it was only the width of a camel's foot, 
but suddenly I found the sun on my left front instead of where it ought to have been, 
definitely on my right. I must have turned an almost complete circle. I felt the panic that 
seems to affect all men lost in the bush, but instead of running about wildly as the urge 
was, I said to myself: "Sit down, you fool!" and did so, on a stone, until the panic passed. 
Then it was only a matter of simple calculation which direction to take to get to the river. 
It was 6.15 a.m. and we were practically on the Equator and I knew I was on the right 
bank of the Juba. The Juba flows roughly North to South, although with many bends. It 
was clear that all I had to do was to walk straight into the sun. I remember seriously 
arguing with myself as to whether the sun really rose in the East! You see, perhaps my 
life depended on making no mistake! Then I got up and struck out across the scrub with 
the sun in my face; before long, I detected a downward slant in the desert ahead, and soon 
got to the river. I found the tracks of the ration-goats which had been driven along behind 
the convoy and having had a drink in the river, with due precautions against crocodiles, 
hurried along the track and got into camp just before a search-party was starting out to 
look for me. 

I spent several months at a forsaken spot called Serenli, 400 miles from the coast when 
you travelled on the river, and joined the expedition of Brigadier-General Hoskins when 
he went right on into the Marehan country to try and talk the natives there out of the 
necessity for a military expedition to make them behave. Whilst Hoskins did the talking, I 
was quietly surveying the routes for the future expedition if it were found unavoidable. 
Thus, the expedition could take place with the minimum camel-loss from Surra. 

However, Hoskins made no great impression upon the Mare- 



han, and the expedition was decided upon. I was sent right down to the coast where I had 
to arrange the landing on an open beach, at Kismayu, of 350 camels of an Indian Camel 
Corps which was to take part. The Commanding Officer, the Native Officers and many of 
the men in this Camel Corps had known me well in India and were astonished to see me 
coming up the side of the ship in Kismayu harbour. We had to sling the camels from the 
hold of the ship into flat-bottomed river steamers which, when full of animals, were taken 
inshore and then the camels were slung out of these into the sea and had to swim the last 
bit. Kismayu harbour, although almost on the equator, is entirely free of sharks owing to 
its very narrow entrance through a gap in the coral-reef which closes it; and it was quite 
good fun taking headers into the luke-warm sea from the decks of these boats to try and 
get a little respite from the intense heat. Once landed, the camels had to be acclimatised 
to the strange new grazing plants of the country, but only three weeks was available for 
this and when the expedition moved off up-country, some of the animals had only just 
recovered from diarrhoea and indigestion due to the change in their diet. 

I had a row with the Government at this time, having received peremptory orders from 
my Chief to join the expedition as Veterinary Officer. My status being Civilian, with no 
provision for the possibility of my becoming a casualty, nor any definition of my rank in 
a Military Expedition, nor any certainty of my status as to discipline, I refused this order 
unless it was first agreed on all sides that I was a civilian and nothing but a civilian and 
would take no orders from anyone as to my work, but only as to my movements. There 
was a lot of bobbery about this, but I got my way; I was always anxious to accompany 
the expedition because of my friends from India taking part in it, but I had no intention of 
being ordered into duties which rightly belonged to the Army Veterinary Corps, and that 
without proper serious consultation. I took the long convoy through the tse-tse country, 
and all camps, marches and arrangements for watering the camels at places infested by 
fly were carried out according to my advice. On arrival at Serenli, I was thanked by the 
Officer Commanding for "playing the game", but I often wondered what other game he 
thought I might have played! Some weeks later I returned to the coast, half the journey 
being performed by river, in a native canoe; I was accompanied by a British Officer who 
had "gone funny in the head" and the long journey wasn't easy on that account. After a 
few days, I was returning with a big convoy of camels with supplies for the troops up- 
country. But the long marches had told upon me; I had had sciatica very badly from 
overmarching before I left Serenli for the last time and I had also suffered from 
inflammation of the outer passage of the ears due to using, for washing purposes, the only 
water available 



at one camp, that from a pool in which a dead ostrich had been lying. These things had 
told on my strength in such a climate as Jubaland, and I became very feverish on the 
march about 100 miles from the coast and had to be left behind; my face was so swollen 
that my eyes were almost closed; I do not know what the condition was: I had to be 
carried back to the coast on a stretcher by natives where, under an Indian doctor, I made a 
slow, but complete, recovery. This was at a place called Gobwen on the sandy banks of 
the Juba near its mouth, with the wireless mast of Jumbu, in Italian Somaliland, just in 
view on the opposite bank. Then we learned that war had broken out with Germany. This 
was particularly disquieting for the few white men at Gobwen, because, of course, Italy 
was then nominally one of the Triple Alliance Powers. In Italian Somaliland, Abyssinian 
soldiers were often enlisted, and their reputation is not of the mildest. However, Italian 
officers came across the river and assured us that they would not be fighting on the side 
of Germany. I used their wireless to offer my services, in Europe, to the War Office, but 
was requested by the Jubaland Provincial Commissioner to take the Camel Corps camels 
south to Mombasa in the absence of their Commanding Officer. We loaded the camels 
into boats with the aid of a ricketty crane on a ricketty jetty, and from the boats on to a 
steamship. The voyage was unescorted and took three days and two nights and as the 
German cruiser, Konigsberg, was known to be roaming about the Indian Ocean, we got 
up very early in the mornings to scan the horizon. We landed the camels at Mombasa 
where, of course, they were as much a curiosity as they would have been in London, and 

got them up to Voi by train; there we met their Commanding Officer and all rode off to 
the south towards the Germans, who had invaded the country from Tanganyka and were 
in Taveta. 

On landing at Mombasa, I accepted a commission as Captain in the East Africa 
Veterinary Corps on the understanding that I was to be allowed to resign in the event of 
the camels being dispensed with. I suspected we were going straight into tse-tse country, 
where they could hardly serve for long with success and I had no intention of placing 
myself under military discipline for long under a man I detested. The only military 
uniform 1 had was a hastily cut red band around my solar topee, an E.A.V.C. badge and a 
captain's stars; the rest of my apparel was civilian khaki. I found tse-tse wherever we 
went and the camels hardly earned their keep by patrolling in thick bush country where 
they were such conspicuous targets for a machine-gunner. They began to sicken with 
Ngana. the form a Trypanosomiasis which is carried by the tse-tse and I did my best to 
treat them with the clumsy methods then known. We lost very few of them, but I notified 
the Commanding Officer that he would certainly ultimately lose the lot if they were not 






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Plate VI. Author joins up in World War I. 

removed from the tse-tse country, where they really had no business to be. After two 
months' service in the Serengetti "desert" (not really desert as we camelmen knew 
deserts) I received instructions to take the camels back to Jubaland. This I did, returning 
on the same ship and demanding my release according to the agreement made. After 
some humming and hawing, I received my discharge, and took the first available ship, a 
French one, to Marseilles. On the way, I wirelessed the Egyptian Government offering to 
disembark in Egypt for war service there, but got no reply. 

But the War Office, in England, had accepted my previous offer; I crossed France by rail 
and was about the only civilian passenger in the boat that brought us across the Channel 
from Havre to Southampton. 



The First Great Slaughter. 

I was glad to get away from under the tropical sun; I felt that it had been affecting, at last, 
my energy and initiative. I went to see my future wife and my mother; and joined straight 
up in the Royal Army Veterinary Corps; I was rather disappointed to be offered a mere 
Lieutenant's commission, but felt it was hardly a time for holding out for terms ! Anyhow, 
I was made Captain after nine months' service. I was in England for two months before 
going across to France, working as Veterinary Officer to Army Service Corps Units. It 
was wonderful to get back to horses again. Then I was posted to the 7th Siege Brigade 
and it was with that unit that I went to war. It consisted of batteries of 6-inch howitzers 
which, at that time, might be fairly described as the final argument on land. These guns 
were drawn by eight heavy horses and every ammunition-wagon had a team of four. We 
went to a place just behind Neuve Chappelle and I got under shell-fire for the first time 
the very first night. This was before the battle of that name and we were told that we 
should be in Lille in about a week; but God disposes, and the only British who got there 
during the next few years were prisoners. To get the horses away from the front, they 
were sent back eight miles and I went in charge of them; I was given other Units to visit 
and was kept fairly busy. Then we were moved close to the front again, just before 
Laventie Church, where we were shelled to some effect, and one or two horses were hit 
but I managed to remove the splinters before sending them away to the base. I find there 
are two important considerations when horses are hit by the enemy; one is, if you can get 
the splinter on the spot, do it, because animals are often greatly delayed on the journey 
away from the front; the other is, if the splinter is too deep to get at by acrobatic surgery, 
start the horse off without delay so that he can arrive at a place where he can be dealt 
with before he stiffens up. 

After a few weeks, we moved off, one night, down to the neighbourhood of Bethune, and 
the following day we heard that our last position had been laid flat by shelling. Here we 
stayed a long time; the batteries were, of course, up nearer the line; ammunition was very 
short at this time and our heavy horses were sometimes called upon, in pairs, to take up 
four rounds at a fast trot, which did them no good. At this place I remember seeing the 



(then) Prince of Wales marching with his regiment; and the Canadians would come down 
from the fighting line bringing their customary one white-faced prisoner to show where 
they had been. I had a lot of Units to vet at this time, and my professional rounds took me 
over a lot of ground. I spent Christmas Eve in the trenches with the Officers of one of our 
Batteries at Annequin and it was from an observer's post that I first saw the Germans with 
whom we were at war. 

Veterinary work at the front in war-time is not very satisfying to the clinician, because 
prevention is his job, and he has to send all trouble to the rear to be dealt with by others. 
Detection of trouble at an early stage is the chief duty, but I used to treat some cases 
myself if I thought the delay in sending them back would prejudice their recovery. 

Our Medical Officer at that time was a Harley Street specialist and I had to sympathise 
with him when he told me how he had, as a Lieutenant, to sit back and say nothing when 
some young and inexperienced man who was his senior in rank was botching a job or 
doing the wrong thing. We "temporary blighters" had our trials! 

After one year of service, I got leave and went home to be married. On my return to 
France, I found I was posted to a Veterinary Hospital at Abbeville under Major Hobday, 
who was, in civil life. Chief of the Camden Town Veterinary College and whom I knew 
well. I was second-in-command. Here, nine months were spent and I became the 
operating surgeon for major jobs which were done under chloroform and although this 
work is not really my bent, I was trained by the Major, who was a specialist in these 
major operations, until I could be trusted to do them alone. Very few veterinary surgeons 
have had such an opportunity: the general run of the work was in removing the testicles 
of cryptorchids or "rigs" in those abnormal cases where one testicle had been retained in 
the abdomen; spaying vicious mares; the "roaring" operation; removal of the lateral 
cartilage of the foot in "quittor" cases; removing deeply situated shell splinters or 
shrapnel bullets; and the radical operation for "poll evil". There was a lot of general 
practice, too, which was what I loved, with diagnosis of lameness (which is a fine-art), 
whilst frequently we had to use the mallein test for glanders in preventive work; this test 
was done by injecting the mallein into the horse's eyelid, and with proper organisation 
one could do 100 in an hour. 

During my long stay in this Hospital, I was skilful enough to evade every Church Parade; 
there was always a sick horse to be attended to, just at the right moment! I always felt 
that Church 



Christianity was quite incredible; I am the son of a Unitarian mother and I believe that 
different races require different religions. 

On one occasion Major Hobday, who was a high-grade Freemason, announced that a 
Freemasonic meeting was going to take place in the Unit and I realised that I was the 
only officer there who was not a Freemason. Now although I was not a regular army man, 
I had been long enough in contact with regulars in India and Africa to know that it was an 
unwritten law that in a Mess there must be no cliques. I therefore went to my 
Commanding Officer and pointed this out, backing my statement with the intimation that 
I should ask for a transfer if the proposed meeting was held. As a result, it was cancelled. 

Meanwhile, the British attack on Palestine had failed, and the Army found that it needed 
a large fresh supply of Baggage Camels. I was ordered to proceed to Port Said on 
purchase duty. I requested that I might be allowed to go first to England for a few day to 
pick up my tropical kit, as I had nothing of the sort with me. However, this was denied 
me and I went off to Marseilles where I spent those few days, which might have been 
used to better advantage, in waiting for a boat. On arrival at Port Said, I was directed by 
the Transport Officer to return to my ship and disembark at Aden for re-shipment to 
Somaliland. As the ship's first stop was Bombay, I pointed out that all this might take a 
long time and was then directed to board a ship that was going to stop at Aden. I had 
three days in that port and then got across the Gulf of Aden in a small steamer, landing at 
Berbera to report. The nucleus of a Remount Commission was here in the person of a 
Major Herring-Cooper, an officer of the Remount Department; he had no camel 
experience and was not a veterinary man, but we got on very well together and I told him 
all the things I thought it was most easy for him to learn about camel-buying. Two 
veterinary surgeons arrived on the same duty, neither of whom had had any camel 
experience. I went first to a place on the plateau where camels were grazing which had 
been already bought by the Government, but I found that it had been a shocking bit of 
unskilled work, and I only passed about one-third of them for shipment, taking the lowest 
possible standard at that. The others I arranged to exchange with natives for good camels, 
generally two crocks to one sound one, but towards the end of the time I gave three, four 
or five for one. The natives, who never have much need of money, for their wealth is in 
animals, had done a splendid deal for themselves against the amateur ignoramuses who 
had bought these animals. 

I was instructed to proceed to Hargeisa, not far from the Abyssinian border, and buy 
camels there. I had with me an Arab interpreter whose loyalty I had reason to doubt. At 
Hargeisa, I 



found that no camels were coming in for purchase, so I called a meeting of akhils or 
headmen. Sitting on a chair, I told these people to gather around in a semi-circle so that 
they could hear the King's Message. I explained the need for camels in the war against 
the Turks in Palestine and drew, with a stick, a rough map in the sand which, of course, 
they only half understood, showing how the different camel-countries had contributed 
camels for the campaign. I marked Somaliland in this map as a very insignificant country. 
I told them that the King had called me to him and had asked me where he could get 
more camels and that I had replied "In Somaliland". "Where is that?" said the King. I told 
him, and asked him what to do if the Somalis would not sell? His reply (as I invented it) 
was "Tell them that I am training many young soldiers at home and that I want to 
accustom them to the sight of blood". 

That ended the "ring". From that moment, I was able to buy an average of 30 good 
camels a day for over three months; occasionally a feeble attempt was made to form a 

fresh "ring" to send up the price, but I broke these by saying I was well paid for my job 
and the longer they delayed me in selling their camels, the longer I should be away from 
the carnage in Europe. In the East, it is safe to appeal to the baser instincts of man. I 
bought 3,500 animals at Hargeisa and Mandera, whilst the other three officers had 
collected 1,500 between them. Towards the end of the time. Major Herring-Cooper 
returned to Egypt and I was left in command, although one of the other Veterinary 
Officers was a regular and my senior by service. We had an extremely useful Australian 
officer sent to us called Hayward, whom I put in charge of the camel concentration camp 
some miles out of Berbera. 

By the time the last transport arrived to take us up the Red Sea, we had just about combed 
Somaliland of all the camels it could spare. In loading up the camels at Berbera, I got a 
touch of the sun and was in a poor state during the voyage; when I got to Suez, I was sent 
straight to hospital where my blood was frequently examined for malaria although 
nothing was ever found. Thence I was transferred to Alexandria, where I recuperated in 
an Officers' hospital and was completely forgotten by the authorities and I dare-say I 
could have stayed there throughout the war if I had so desired! The only incident worth 
recording here was the arrival of a man suffering from exhaustion and exposure from 
being torpedoed in the Aegean. His discription of his experiences has always stayed in 
my mind; when the torpedo struck the ship, he was in his cabin; he just had time to run up 
to the deck and jump over the side as ordered. But the ship was carrying mules and, as 
she went down, some of these got loose and into the water. Remember it was at 



night. The instinct of mules in the direction of self-preservation is very strong: when 
suddenly dumped into deep water, they will try and climb upon anything that is afloat. 
There was not much afloat except men, so the mules tried to climb on theml My narrator 
said: "The night was dark and yet the water seemed to be all ears and teeth". A vivid 
description! Yet he went on, with tears in his eyes, "When a destroyer at last picked me 
up, one fellow rode up to the ladder on a swimming mule and when we moved off several 
mules were streaking after us trying to catch us up." 

War is a beastly thing for animals as well as men. 

When I felt like it, I reported my hitherto forgotten presence, and was told to join a 
transport for Marseilles, which I did, the only adventure on the journey being the 
appearance of a submarine, upon which our two escorting destroyers quickly enclosed us 
in a smoke-screen within which we changed our course and took temporary refuge in the 
bay where St. Paul was said to have been wrecked in Malta. 

On returning to Abbeville, I applied for a spot of leave, but I was not one of the General's 
"grey-haired boys" and was directed to take up special duty at Brest, where my job was to 
prevent the Portuguese Army, which was landing there, from bringing in useless animals 

or contagious equine diseases, particularly glanders. For some reason, I was not allowed 
to test them with Mallein and could only stop "open" cases. My London experiences had 
familiarised me with glanders in its many different aspects, which was perhaps lucky for 
many people, because the disease had been stamped out of Britain in recent years and the 
new veterinary graduates were not accustomed to it. Owing to the fact that only one ship 
was then employed in transporting horses from Lisbon, this was a very soft job for me 
and I discovered that officers could get permission for their wives to join them if they 
wished; I did wish, and met mine at St. Malo and we spent a very happy time together, at 
Brest, for six or seven months. The town of Brest was then full of American, Portuguese, 
and even Russian soldiers, but I never could understand why the Portuguese were ever 

One incident there might interest horsey men. My inspections of the horses, as they 
landed, was carried out in the old moat around the ancient walls of Brest. Often, horses 
and mules would break loose from their escorts because of rotten halters or complete 
absence of anything to control them by; some, had strands of haybale-wire round their 
necks, and the men were supposed to hang on to that. Well, one horse got loose outside 
the moat and ran along the top of the outer moatwall until he stopped, gazing down at his 
fellows below. I could see what he intended to do and that nothing could stop him from 
doing it. I shouted to the men who 



were after him not to frighten or hustle him, and I got close to the spot where he would 
land, for he was looking down, snorting and fidgetting for a foot-hold. The height was 
about 25 feet, but the lauding was grassy and favourable. Then he jumped, and what 
interested me was to see quite plainly that although a horse taking an ordinary jump lands 
on his forelegs, this fellow, jumping from a great height, dropped his hind-quarters whilst 
in the air so that he landed on his hindfeet, thus breaking the shock. He was quite unhurt. 

When this duty was done, I got leave and my wife and I went home together. 

On my return to France, I was posted as Veterinary Officer to the Advanced Horse 
Transport Depot which was situated, just outside Abbeville. Here, there was a floating 
population of horses and mules varying from about 3,000 to 7,000 and my time was well 
filled. I was engaged in this unit until I got my discharge at the end of the war. One night, 
the depot suffered an intense bombing, 320 horses being hit, of which about 180 were 
killed outright or had to be slaughtered. I was on continuous duty for 48 hours; in some 
sections, the dead horses were piled one on top of the other to the height of one's 
shoulders; perhaps the ones at the bottom of the heap were still breathing, some with their 
legs blown right off. I had to get at them how I could, and my revolver got almost too hot 
to hold. One poor fellow, I remember, had both hind legs blown off at the hock and was 
standing on the stumps, looking like a bewildered rocking-horse; I could not get his head 
down for the usual brain shot, and I shot him just in front of the ear and leapt quickly to 

one side as he came crashing down dead, nearly on top of me. All that first night I was 
doing this grisly work, shooting the hopeless cases and extricating the others. All next 
day I was doing first-aid on the wounded ones, getting the milder cases off on the one- 
mile march to hospital before they had time to get too stiff to move off under their own 
power, and loading the worst cases into ambulances. Right into the second night I was 
still extracting splinters from wounded horses where the missiles had not penetrated 
deeply enough to require special facilities for their removal. I knew the beastliness of 
war, that night. 

The officers of the Unit itself were Royal Army Service Corps men, all selected for their 
jobs because of familiarity with horses, and they were very pleasant people for a 
veterinary surgeon to work with. On slack afternoons, which were rare, we would have 
an imaginary fox-hunt over the downs around Abbeville, with an imaginary fox and 
imaginary hounds. The purpose of the unit was to replace casualties from the front, our 
horses being conditioned, trained and paired as requisite, ready for supply. 



One day, a bright young red-hat from the Veterinary Staff came over to inspect my work. 
He asked me whether I saw to it that crushed oats were used so that the horses could get 
the most benefit from their corn. I said: "No, Sir" and he waxed eloquent on my 
oversight. When he had finished his tirade, I said, "Excuse me. Sir, but no horse leaves 
this depot unless he himself carries in his mouth the most efficient corn-crushing 
armament; trained men inspect every animal's grinders and if there is anything wrong 
with them, it is at once put right; further, if you will excuse me. Sir, these animals will 
not get crushed oats at the front and if they got used to eating them here, they would fall 
away quickly when they got up to the front where their work was hard and the corn fed 
whole." After that, I was left alone to do my job without interference. 

There was a tense moment when the huge unit, which had been for years at Abbeville, 
got orders to get ready to move to the coast at two hours' notice. The Germans were in 
Rouen! However, the order was cancelled and we never moved at all as long as the war 



Camels: Fiction and Fact. 

Reprinted from "Country Life", 13th April, 1945, by kind 
permission of the proprietors. 

Nearly every popular tradition about camels is without factual basis and how many fables 
there are concerning the strange specialised animal met, in this country, only in zoos and 
menageries! If it were not for our native mud, he might have been a familiar domesticated 
worker here, provided he received stabling in the winter and reasonable protection from 
flies in the Summer, but even then some tall stories might have survived, because there 
are people who still believe that the horses's eyes magnify what they see, and that that is 
the reason he submits to Man! The horse is protected from flies by a special muscle 
attached to the skin itself which shakes them off and by his naturally long tail. The camel 
has no such defences and soon becomes exhausted by the muscular effort needed to beat 
off swarms of flies. That is one reason why the camel lives in dry climates. 

Man's chief interest in the camel is in the work he can do. The structure of the camel's 
foot is specialised for sand; it has a flat horny under-surface with an elastic spread, but 
offers no grip on a slippery medium like mud. If a loaded camel is taken carelessly over a 
patch of slimy ground, the legs are liable to slip apart, and he does "the splits"; he may, if 
lucky, get off with a bad sprain; if unlucky, he will dislocate a joint. So he is useless in a 
country like ours, although he could stand the cold well enough. 

Exaggerated notions exist of the camel's capacity to resist thirst; it is great, but the camel, 
even if he doesn't look it, is, after all, flesh and blood. There are certain antelopes which 
exist throughout the year without access to spring or river water, but they don't have to do 
work under those conditions. The working camel always thrives best when he can drink 
as often as he wishes, but if the necessity arises, he can keep going and remain fit on 
intervals between drinks of two to five days, according to the breed of camel. He can 
endure and survive privation of water for a much longer period, but will then suffer and 
will need plenty of time for recuperation. 

Perhaps the tallest of travellers' yarns about the camel is the 



one which alleges that when lost in the desert and in danger of dying of thirst, a man may 
find relief by killing his camel and finding the bag of water which he is supposed to carry 
in his stomach. It would be much better to spend the time and energy in trying to find 
water somewhere else. There is no such supply maintained in the stomach; there is an 
excess of mucus in parts of the first stomach, but to suck some of that would act as an 
emetic and you would lose more water than you gained. The camel's specialised 
apparatus against thirst consists of an excess of mucus-secreting surface in the throat and 
in the first stomach, which enables him to moisten his food in chewing the cud, even if he 
hasn't had a drink for a week or so. 

The camel's hump is a store of superfluous fat which is drawn upon when food is scarce; 
it is relatively bigger and more efficient than the hump of the Zebu ox, or the "spread" of 
a middle-aged man which may be a similar provision of Nature so that he can tide over 

the longer intervals between successful hunts as his activity declines; a pleasant thought, 
even if it may not be accurate! The sheep in some countries similarly store fat in their 
tails and I have seen a Doomba sheep, in India, carrying its heavy tail with a sort of rough 
two-wheeled go-cart behind to take the weight of it. (This is positively the only yarn 
about sheep I know, but it is strictly true.) The camel's spine does not run up into his 
hump. When he is starved the hump will, in time, disappear. 

The camel's supercilious expression is accounted for by the Arabs who say that, while 
they know only 99 names of God, the camel knows the hundredth! 

Sometimes it is stated that a camel-bite will give syphilis to man, but this is untrue. The 
only disease which can be transmitted in this way is Rabies; a keeper in Formosa once 
got hydrophobia from the bite of a camel which had been bitten by a rabid dog. Camels 
on the Seistan Boundary Commission Expedition were lost from Rabies when they were 
bitten by mad wolves and jackals, and I once had a narrow squeak when examining inside 
the mouth of a baby camel which I afterwards found was rabid; the saliva contains the 
virus! But the camel is no more liable to Rabies than a buffalo, ox, or any other animal 
that can be attacked by a mad dog. 

The dental armament of a male camel is terrific, because his four canine teeth are 
developed as fully as those of a lion, and he has been known to take the top of a man's 
head right off. The bite is always serious, and generally septic. 

Camels are supposed to curl up and die out of sheer cussedness. Of this they are never 
guilty; they are full of a passive sort of pluck. The source of this tale lay in the 
unrecognised existence 



of a widespread disease due to a trypanosoma which causes a very slow decline with a 
remittent fever, which many camelmen were unable to diagnose or understand. The 
camel "curled up and died" from it because of his refusal to give in to it before expending 
the last ounce of his strength. It is pleasant to record that a hundred per cent, cure of this 
disease can now be effected by a single injection into the jugular vein costing (before the 
war) about 3s. 6d. 

Another yarn is that a camel cannot swim. He can, and does, although he is slow in the 
water. I have landed hundreds of camels on an open beach by having them lowered into 
the water in slings by a crane, releasing the slings and making the camels swim ashore. 
Camels are much heavier in front than they are behind, and so the hind-quarters ride near 
the surface of the water. Therefore, as they approach a shelving beach and get their 
forefeet once more on terra firma, they bob about in a most absurd fashion for many 
yards before they can resume their normal dignified gait, as they cannot at first get their 
hind feet down. 

In the Delta country of the Indus, there are camels which graze in the mangrove swamps 
and live a most uncamel-like and amphibious existence, swimming from one part of their 
water-logged grazing-ground to another; fresh water has to be brought to them from up- 
stream in boats! 

Then, it is said that camel-riding makes people sea-sick. At the walking pace, it might, 
but one does not use riding-camels at the walk. With horses, the best travelling is done by 
alternate walk and canter, except when they are "pacers" or "ramblers"; but riding-camels 
are used at the jog or amble, and are never walked except on steep slopes or slippery 
mud. With riding-camels, you plug along all the time, with halts at intervals. The camel 
has a wonderful arrangement of elastic ligament which takes a good deal of the strain 
away from the muscles at the normal paces. 

It is rather a depressing thought that, although the camel is now understood so much 
better than he used to be, and his potential economic value is thereby enormously 
increased, the advantage has been cancelled out by the internal combustion engine almost 
as soon as the knowledge was acquired and spread. Whatever happens to camel-transport, 
there is some future for camel-breeders in the meat-trade, although few have recognised it 
yet. Camel meat from animals reared for food is excellent. A world scarcity of meat must 
favour the production of an animal which can fatten in country so arid that other animals 
would perish in it. 

Perhaps the camel may, some day, exchange his present arduous life for one of pastoral 
ease. How thoroughly that ease has been earned! 



Mule Sense. 

Published in "Country Life", 24th November, 1944, and reprinted 
here by kind permission of the Editor. 

Some people don't get on with mules, but I like them. It never seems, to me, fair to expect 
a mule to behave like a horse. Often you hear it said "I don't like cats", but behind this 
antipathy you will generally find that cats are expected to behave like dogs and because, 
being cats, they can't, they are often regarded as disappointing animals whose 
acquaintance it is hardly worth while to cultivate. 

The fact is that mules have much in common with cats, far more than they have with 
horses, and infinitely more than cats have with dogs. 

The mule gets his brains and his temperament from his father, who is an ass only in the 
zoological sense, being anything but stupid. It is not stupidity which causes the family 
donkey to need so much urging and encouragement on the outward journey when he is 

taking the children for a drive; nor is it stupidity that makes it almost impossible to train a 
mule to jump a hurdle when ridden. In both cases, the action which is being forced upon 
the animal is one which, he feels, profits him not at all., in the first case the donkey 
knows quite well that the stick will never be applied with enough vigour to hurt him in 
the second case, the folly of jumping a hurdle when you can go round it seems, from the 
mule's standpoint, so stupendous that it is worth any amount of thrashing rather than to 
submit to it. The attitude may be, in both cases, somewhat spoil-sport, but it is certainly 
not stupidity. 

Mules, like cats, have a very fair share of brains, but they do not usually expend their 
talents with any generous object. By nature they are self-centred and cautious, anything 
but "sportsmen"; and if you want to see the better side of mule or cat, you have to work 
for it; the confidence of these animals can be won, particularly if the attempt is begun 
during colthood or kittenhood. Once your mule or cat associates your presence with 
complete safety, everything else is easy and you will find he has affection to spare. A dog 
gives his affection generously and a horse his services, often to unworthy masters, but a 
mule never. He must be sure that 



he is in good hands and can only be persuaded of it by experience; once he becomes 
satisfied about it you can do anything with him that is reasonable, but nothing which 
seems stupid to him, like jumping hurdles. 

Personally, I find it attractive to gain the affection and confidence of an animal which is 
naturally suspicious and cautious. 

The genius of a mule or a cat, if genius it can be called, is spent upon the serious business 
of self-preservation, and the well-being of "Number One". But if the cat has nine lives, 
the mule must have at least ten. 

Compare the behaviour of a tired mule with that of a weary horse when a return to the 
stable is made after a hard journey. As soon as the harness is off, the mule is lying down, 
sometimes even before there has been time to get a good bed of straw under him; a horse 
will fidget and wait until all the men have gone away and the stable is quiet before he, in 
his turn, will get down to it and take his rest. 

And mules think. A mule once played a trick on me that in a life-time's experience with 
animals I have never once known a horse resort to. Liquid medicine had to be 
administered and the usual procedure was adopted of throwing a rope over a beam, 
making a fixed loop in the end of the rope, passing it under the noseband of the 
headcoUar and then into the mouth, and then pulling on the rope until the mouth was 
raised a little above the level of the "swallow". The medicine was then carefully poured 
into the side of the mouth from a bottle. The only horses which cannot be "drenched" in 

this way are those which really fight. But this mule used his brains and did not get 
excited. He found the medicine not altogether pleasant to the palate and so, mule-like, 
distrusted heartily both it and everybody connected with it. He could not get his head 
down so as to let the stuff run out of his mouth. So he deliberately stood up on his hind 
legs like a circus-horse every time he received a mouthful, which position, of course, 
enabled him to get his throat at a higher level than his mouth, so that the stuff ran out on 
to the, floor. In the end he defeated us until we made a counter attack by giving him a 
"ball" (pill) instead. 

The difference in temperament and outlook between horse and mule is well illustrated by 
their relative behaviour when being chloroformed for an operation. The chloroform is 
administered on a sponge inside a special cylindrical-shaped muzzle which covers nose 
and mouth, the animal of course having been thrown down with his legs tied. Horses 
always react the same way; mules also react the same way, but not like horses. The horse, 
as soon as he 



smells the chloroform, loses his nerve and begins to struggle violently; the very 
struggling increases also the rate of breathing and so, of course, the rate at which he takes 
in the fumes; with the proper dose, he goes under, unconscious for any surgical operation, 
in ten minutes. 

Not so our mule. He does not get excited at all. He seems to say to himself "Great Oats! 
What's this funny smell? I dislike it and think it evil. Darned if I will breathe it." So he 
stops breathing for as long a time as he can hold his breath. When he can stand it no 
longer, he gives a great gasp and stops again and so on. The result is that it takes much 
longer to get a mule "under" than it does a horse, and you have to use a bigger dose into 
the bargain. 

During the latter part of the last War, I was Veterinary Officer to a big R.A.S.C. depot 
which had the job of replacing horses-casualties in transport units at the front. This work 
involved trying out strange horses so that they could be properly paired for issue. Of 
course, it was not uncommon for animals to run away on their trials. When that 
happened, word was sent to me and I would ride to the scene to do first-aid on any 
injured animals. With horses, it was usual to find the animals hurt more or less severely. 
But with runaway mules it was quite a different picture. The waggon might be in 
splinters; the driver might be badly injured or even killed, but invariably the mules would 
be found grazing peacefully by the side of the road without a mark on them. After a 
number of fruitless journeys after runaway mules, which did not provide me with work, I 
stopped going where mules were concerned. I concluded that when mules run away, it is 
not because they are frightened, but because they think it fun. 

In the Army, in the last War, we had a number of totally blind horses and mules for 
which work was to be found at the bases. The blind horses, with absolute confidence in 
their drivers, thrived so well that you could recognise them at a distance because of their 
fatness. But it was asking too much of mule-nature to expect blind mules to be a success. 
They were not, because they would place no confidence in strange drivers or, indeed, 
anything but seeing for themselves; and as they could not see, they would not work. 

It so happens that most mule breeding (by a jackass out of a mare) is carried on in "Dago" 
countries where the treatment the animals get, particularly in the process of breaking-in, 
is, to say the least, rough and ready. This is enough to destroy the chance of getting the 
wary mule to put his trust in Man. So they grow up thinking they know a lot better than 
their masters and that is why there are so many biters and kickers among them. When a 
British soldier has to take charge of them, he has, therefore, every reason 



to be nervous of them; a mule standing in a stall has a big advantage over a man who 
approaches it from behind and a mule can "cow-kick" with a long reach forward and 
sideways as well as backwards. This very nervousness on the part of the soldier makes it 
more and more difficult for the mule, which senses it, to learn to rely upon his judgment. 
He remains a rebel, a kicker and a biter. Only by long service under a really animal- 
sensed and sympathetic man can mule-nature be overcome. 

Even during the period of my own life-time, cats in this country have been more and 
more adopted as real pets instead of being regarded as mere mouse-catching chattels 
unworthy of much notice, especially by men. Already, as a result, they have a greatly 
diminished fear of strangers; they have become emancipated and being better understood; 
their suspicious, cautious outlook on life is becoming modified. 

If the British Army bred and reared all its own mules, the animals would soon lose the 
evil reputation that has been thrust upon them by men who did not understand them; both 
mule or cat which has never known ill-treatment lives its life believing in Man, using its 
mule- or cat-sense on the basis that MAN is SAFE and TRUSTWORTHY. 



Private Practice. 

Being demobbed and intending to have a spell of private practice, I had consulted with 
my fellow-officers in the Advanced Horse Transport Depot, who had not, of course, lost 
touch with English life as I then had, and learned of several districts where there seemed 
to be a good chance of making a success of general practice. First I went up to enquire at 

Ulverston, on the Barrow peninsula of Lancashire, but I turned the district down as 
everyone agreed that farming there was in a backward state; but I met a retiring 
veterinary surgeon, who sold me many useful instruments, cheaply, so I had not wasted 
my time. Then I went to Kendal, but there were too many sheep and too many old- 
established practitioners there for me, so I moved to the next place on my list, Pontefract. 
One look at that was enough; and so to Doncaster. Here again, although the district was 
developing rapidly, there were several good practitioners who had been there for years, 
and I opined that there was no great need for even such a genius as myself so, further 
south to Stamford, at the extreme southern extremity of Lincolnshire. I spent several days 
in inquiries and then wrote to my wife that we had found our stamping-ground. At first 
we had to take lodgings and I put up my plate under that handicap. The cautious people 
of Stamford and District had seen one veterinary surgeon come and go after a brief stay 
and had found it unpleasant to have to return to the old practitioner (who had been there 
for years) after once leaving him for another man. Many people waited to see whether I 
was going to turn out equally temporary before they would consult me. The fact of my 
being in lodgings was, therefore, a drawback, apart from the fact that the accommodation 
for an infirmary was nil, and once I had to stitch up a horse's torn eyelid in the street 
before an admiring crowd. I had found a house with good stabling almost ready made for 
what I needed, but owing to the deadly slowness of the War Office who had been using 
the house for troops, coupled with the natural paralysis (probably Freemasonic) which I 
met with in the agent for the noble landlord, it was months before I could secure the 

Meanwhile, I had visited London with the intention of purchasing my old mount which I 
had had at Abbeville, but was distressed to find that the little grey mare had developed 
stringhalt since I saw her last, and I had to return to Stamford empty-handed. 



In those post-war times, I was unable even to buy a man's bicycle; and my first journeys 
as a veterinary practitioner in Stamford were made on a lady's bicycle or sometimes on a 
man's bicycle kindly lent me by a sympathetic tradesman. Veterinary equipment for horse 
and cattle cases is apt to be bulky and I must, on some of these journeys, have reminded 
spectators of a Christmas Tree or a One-Man Band, particularly when I was going out to 
a calving case. My troubles, however, had been mitigated considerably by the fact that I 
had not been in the town three weeks before the largest horse-owner, a timber merchant 
on a large scale, had decided that I was his veterinary surgeon. 

When, at last, I secured my house in 20, St. George's Square, I "never looked behind me", 
and soon developed a sound practice and got most of the work in the district inside a 
radius of about eight miles. The house was an old one, and far too big for us; there was a 
nice garden with fruit trees and (most important from the professional standpoint) good 
stabling and coach-house, including four loose-boxes and two stalls, in one of which a 
horse could be slung if necessary. 

As soon as I saw the horse I wanted, I bought it; a roan mare which we called Methel 
after two friends of ours named Maud and Ethel: I looked after her myself, and I was 
never so fit as during the time when her early-morning toilet demanded my regular 
services. She became very fond of me and had her own gentle snickering language in 
which to tell me so. When I drove out with her, it was two pals going out into the world 
together. I bought a governess car at an almost prohibitive price, and with that we worked 
up the practice. She was never sick or sorry, and I had a system of stable management 
which fitted the irregular hours we had to keep. 

We generally had at least one spare loose-box, and her "bedroom" was another. The first 
thing I did in the morning was to take her out of her bedroom into her "sitting-room" 
where her feed was awaiting her. There was no bedding in the sitting-room, and I 
groomed her there, leaving the mucking-out of the bedroom until such time as was 
convenient on any particular day. That reduced the unavoidable before-breakfast stable 
routine to a minimum. I developed a large canine and feline practice in addition to the 
ordinary horse and farm work and sometimes I would have as many as twenty dogs on 
the place and I was both vet. and kennelman and did all the work myself. There were 
three separate enclosures where dogs could exercise themselves and when there was a 
crowd of them, it took some scheming to reduce the time occupied in this process by 
exercising compatibles together. The dogs seemed to appreciate my hospital, as a rule, 
and often we opened 



our front door to find an ex-patient, recently discharged, sitting on the doorstep. One old 
terrier of fifteen years walked in twelve miles from his country home on several 
occasions, a testimonial which we accepted with mixed feelings, because somehow, he 
had to be got home again. I remember one tight-skinned fox-terrier which was a great 
favourite with us, bursting in through a window curtain. He still remained a favourite! 
Our large house was able to supply us with spare rooms for cat patients; these rooms 
were closed to all traffic, and the chimneys had to be stuffed with bags of straw, because 
cats in a strange place will stick at nothing to make an exit if they can. I considered it 
disgraceful for a veterinary surgeon to allow any animal placed in his charge to take 
French leave; all the time at Stamford this only happened once, and we got the cat back 
all right before the owner got to know about it! We had not been in Stamford two years 
before we seemed to know everyone in the town from the Marquess of Exeter down to 
the local gypsies. In the years before 1926 I was so busy that it sometimes seemed as 
though it was only at meal-times that I saw my wife. Fees were customarily rather small 
in Stamford District and by working hard all day one got very little more than a 
competence; but, looking back, I know how I enjoyed the life, although it meant seven 
days a week with night-work thrown in. Working so hard, I resented particularly the 
rising income tax; it seemed hard to turn out in the middle of the night, drive out say 
seven miles, strip to the waist in a cow-shed and work like ten niggers on a calving case, 
wait for your money, say, six months and then pay some of it to the Government as a 

kind of fine for having had the energy to earn it! However, I trained my clients not to 
knock me up at night unless it was unavoidable; in other words, I got them to send for me 
before bedtime when trouble appeared to be brewing in stable or cow-house. 

When I had had my mare, Methel, one year, I sold her to a farmer friend who, I knew, 
would use her right and I bought a Morris Cowley car. But what a price I had to pay, so 
soon after the war! But, once I had got used to the car, I found it fully justified by the 
time and trouble saved; one got to one's cases sooner, which is always an advantage, and 
night-work lost most of its terrors. 

For years afterwards, my mare, if standing by the kerb, would be able to detect my 
footsteps even if I was walking in a crowded street, and turn her head and snicker in 
welcome. Finally, she was sold again, this time to a dairyman and she was still working 
his milk-float when she was thirty-three, always with a clean bill of health! 

Then came the deflation of 1926 and the great strike; it was 



the farming industry that was hit most severely by the falling prices and my practice 
suffered a blow from which it never recovered. The farmers drew in their horns and kept 
less stock and that of less value. People began to get short of money and the tendency 
was to let sick animals rip until they were too far gone for successful treatment. Of 
course, in addition to this, horses were rapidly being replaced by mechanical traction; the 
long and short of it was that I began to have some spare time in my practice. 

One thing that I did with this spare time was to write a textbook on the camel in health 
and in disease; I had long intended to do it, indeed I considered that the opportunities I 
had had in the past and the salary and allowances I had drawn from my camel-work made 
this an obligation. When this interesting job was done, I snatched time off to see a 
London printer of veterinary works; but his ideas were fixed and could not be shifted; he 
wanted to produce an imposing volume about 3V2 inches thick which would cost a 
purchaser 26/-. Now I hadn't been a camelman for nothing, and I knew that every ounce 
of weight that could be saved in my treatise would mean a few more sardines in the chop- 
box for someone! I said I did not want my work to be in the form of a large tome, but a 
compact book in rather small print. He just could not see it. So back to Stamford I went 
and there I arranged with the printer of one of the local newspapers to print my book, and 
I made my own arrangements about the illustrations for it; finally, I got an account-book 
binder, in Kettering, to do the simple cover for the book, and turned out the article I 
aimed at for a cost to purchaser of 16/-. I expected to lose £100 on this venture, but 
actually, in time, I made a profit of nearly that amount! The book is the accepted camel 
text-book, and I wrote two supplements to it containing information which brings the 
book up-to-date. The Governments of India and of Somaliland helped me greatly by 

ordering a large number of my books before it was published. I sold out my last copy in 

In 1928, 1 retired from practice, having had nine years of it without a holiday; I handed it 
over to an ex-serviceman who had been under the weather. I am glad I retired when I did; 
and I do not think I should like the life a modern veterinary surgeon leads in the country, 
with so much stress placed upon rather uninteresting preventive work with cattle, 
involving frequent rectal examinations and with that dear creature, the horse, taking such 
an insignificant amount of his attention. 

Before I leave Stamford, I will relate a few anecdotes about our own pets we had there. 
We had three cats, one of which was a tortoiseshell female, which had a litter of kittens in 
our dining-room cupboard. That very morning, I was called out to a terrier 


Plate VII. (1) Barry ("Knob") 
our magnificent friend. 

Plate VII. (2) With Nandy II. 


bitch which could not pup; after the removal of a dead puppy and the birth of several live 
ones, the bitch was found too weak to rear all the litter, and yet the owner wanted to save 
the pups. I bethought myself of Binkle, the aforesaid cat. So I said: "Let me take a long 
chance and see if our cat can help". I took the superfluous pups home, got Binkle out of 
earshot, removed the litter of kittens and destroyed them, and put the pups in the place 
where the kittens had been. Then we brought Binkle back and stood by ready for action, 
for normally she hated dogs. As she stepped into the cupboard, she stopped as though she 
had seen a ghost, and her tail became twice its proper size. For a tense half-minute, she 
remained thus, then climbed in among the pups and there was no more trouble; but she 
never licked them and at first was frankly puzzled by the noises they made. She brought 
them up, small as she was, although one was taken from her at the fourth week because it 
was clearly beyond her strength to continue to suckle the lot; this pup was taken back to 
its legitimate mother, who, after being prevented from killing it, suckled it until weaning 

Two of our cats mastered the art of opening latched doors; for this reason we had to use a 
hook and staple to prevent the larder door being at their service. They would spring up 
and hang on to the handle of the door with one paw and pull the latch down with the 
other paw; and if there were two working together, the other cat would shove the door at 
the right time. How they ever learned this trick, I cannot tell. It may sound incredible, but 
I once saw Nandy, our yellow cat, sitting on the back-door mat with his mother and the 
latter got up and evidently wanted to go into the house, the back door being shut; Nandy 
got up, opened the door for his mother in the way I have described and then went back 

and sat down on the mat again. I record this, not as a case of chivalry or filial sense in 
cats, but as a remarkable bit of co-operation. 

Animals like that, I always feel, are not so far removed from us. I always regarded 
Christianity as a religion alien to white men's instincts, because it takes no note of man's 
best friends who share his hearth. It is in the East where dogs are pariahs. I think it a pity 
that Christianity has not been adjusted better to the spiritual needs of Nordic men, who do 
not need to be told not to murder and steal; a white man's religion would begin on a 
higher plane and teach him to be straight-forward, to be kind to animals, to be 
courageous, loyal and chivalrous. 

One of my patients had been a St. Bernard dog, born in Switzerland, belonging to a titled 
lady. I had had him under treatment on two occasions and was called to him once more 
on a third. The owner said: "Mr. Leese, you seem to be able to keep this dog fit and well, 
yet, with me, he is always ailing; would you like to 



have him?" As this great dog was 10^/2 stone in weight and as high as a table, I felt it 
incumbent upon me to consult the mistress of my house before coming to any decision; 
but she knew the dog and said "Yes" at once. So Barry came to us, although we always 
called him Knob, because he had one on his head (anatomists call it the "occipital 
tuberosity"). It was always more like having a guest in the house rather than a dog, except 
when we had to follow him around with a "gob-cloth" to wipe away the slobber which he 
could not help depositing in places where no slobber should be. He was our magnificent 
friend for some years and went with us to Guildford when I retired; he was the biggest 
dog in the district and the gentlest. He passed over when we were away in Norway for a 
holiday; when we heard the sad tidings, it spoiled the rest of that holiday for us both. He 
collected for the hospitals in Stamford, for the Fascists in Trafalgar Square, and on many 
other occasions. He had a way of wandering down our hill into the High Street of 
Guildford and sitting at a corner of the street to watch the traffic go by; but the crowds he 
collected on those occasions were so large that the habit became a nuisance and we 
discouraged it. When he wanted to go out by himself, we headed him in the opposite 
direction on to the downs where he could sit and watch the landscape without doing any 


Political Awakening. 

The deflation of 1926, which was the real cause of the general strike, had hit every 
business in the town of Stamford, my own practice included. My professional position in 

the town was now secure, and I began to have time to think of other things. Strongly 
individualist myself, I knew little of politics and politicians, but detested Socialism in any 
form, because it seemed to me to be a system which would level down the body politic to 
a state in which the least enterprising and the least deserving would benefit at the expense 
of the better elements of the people. I looked upon Socialism as a sort of political disease 
which affected most people when very young, but which they were liable to grow out of 
when they reached a sensible age. So I suppose I was vaguely Conservative, just as I had 
been vaguely Liberal before I went out to India and found that one man was not half as 
good as another. 

One thing had been worrying me for some time. I could not understand how it was that, 
although we had won the war, we seemed to be losing every yard of the peace which 
followed. Something, I felt, must be acting like a spanner in the works. 

Then I heard the late Mr. Arthur Kitson speak at one or two political meetings of various 
complexions. Kitson had worked about 35 years for Monetary Reform, a subject of which 
I knew nothing; he owned a factory in Stamford for the manufacture of "Kitson's Lights" 
which were used for illuminating lighthouses and large railway stations. He was not 
popular in the town, but I felt that he knew something, goodness knows what, which 
others didn't, including myself, and I asked him one day to drop in and tell me what it 
was all about. That started our friendship which lasted until his death. He was a short man 
with thick white hair, and very musical; he used to play piano duets with my wife. He had 
a contempt for all politicians and political parties because of their stupid and silent 
acquiescence in the fraud of the Gold Standard. Although, at that date, his strenuous 
efforts, which included several books, had made no great progress in altering "Public 
opinion" on the vital question of control over the issue of money, he is now known to all 
monetary reformers as the Pioneer of their cause. I was not a very quick student, finding 
the subject required a considerable mental effort to master, and never being really 
attracted to it; but I gradually 



came to understand that here was something affecting the lives of men, women and 
children everywhere, and which existed as an unrecognised evil manipulated in secret by 
a few people greedy for Power. In fact, I saw that control of the issue of Money was 

Apart altogether from Kitson's influence, I had watched with interest the bloodless 
revolution of Mussolini, who by sheer determination had ended the chaos into which 
Liberalism (disguised) had brought his country; it appeared to me that here was a move- 
ment which might end political humbug, and his declaration "My Aim is Reality" 
appealed to me strongly. I wrote a little pamphlet Fascism for Old England, suggesting 
that only those should have a vote who were willing to pay for the privilege; every man 
would pay a sum equal to, say, one day's income, according to his means, before he 

would receive the suffrage; it seemed to me good realism that what a man had to pay for, 
he would value and that the electors would become a body of people who would vote for 
the country instead of for their own selfish interests. I also joined an organisation called 
the British Fascists, and I made a special journey to town to implore them to change their 
name, as I thought the initials were just asking for it! To my surprise, I failed to gain this 
obvious reform! After a while, I found that there was no Fascism, as I understood it, in 
the organisation which was merely Conservatism with Knobs On; it was justified by the 
Red attempts to smash up meetings of the Right, but it should never have been 
misnamed. Failing to get anything altered, I left the "B.F." 

I have often heard people say that you cannot define Fascism; I always said I could: a 
revolt against democracy and a return to statesmanship. In 1924, there had been a General 
Election a few days before the local Borough Council elections took place. The 
Conservatives had announced their intention of "fighting socialism". When the Borough 
election approached, we found that quite contrary to this declaration. Socialist 
Councillors were going to be allowed to return without a fight; so my friend, Harry 
Simpson, and I put ourselves forward as Fascist candidates. Every effort was made by the 
local Freemasons to dissuade us, and we were told that no fresh blood ever got on to the 
Borough Council in Stamford at the first attempt; but we put in a lot of hard and 
sickening work canvassing our wards and the result was we both got in, beating the two 
principal camouflaged Bolsheviks, pillars of their Party, to the astonishment of the town. 
I was a Councillor, of course, for three years, but found it dull work. Simpson served his 
three years and then put up again as Fascist and was re-elected; I did not try again as I 
knew I was leaving the town. We were the first constitutionally elected Fascists in 

When canvassing for this election, it was impressed upon me 



what utter humbug the democratic vote really is; many people, I knew, voted for me 
because I had cured their pigs or pets and without the slightest idea what I stood for, 
beyond that. (Talking of pigs, I went once to see an Irishman's pig which had developed 
ugly blotches on its skin; I found on examining the animal, that these were bruises, not 
disease, and traced them to mischievous stoning by small boys. The Irishman remarked "I 
don't like cruelty to animals, especially dumb animals!" What is it that makes the Irish 
say these funny things? I have never heard the answer to this question.) 

I had about 80 so-called Fascists organised in the town, but very few of these meant 
business. I often ask myself what was the bravest act I ever did? Well, it was to turn out 
into the streets of a town (in which everyone knew me) in the black shirt uniform. I had 
never done any public speaking before and almost literally shook with nerves at first 
when going through the soap-box stage; but I stuck at it until I had no nerves at all. 

When I retired from professional work and left the town, I started with four others to 
found the Imperial Fascist League in London. I lived at Guildford; and our first 
headquarters was a poky little room in Chandos House, near St. James' Park Tube 
Station. After six months or so, I was made Director-General of the organisation and 
remained in that position until the first day of the second world war when we closed 

Arthur Kitson had introduced me to the Jewish Menace, of which hitherto I had no real 
knowledge. (I was 45 before I knew anything about what was going on behind the 
political scenery). He was very nervous of the Jews because of threats and injuries 
received, and would never speak of them at his meetings, but he knew all about them. He 
introduced me to a little Society called "The Britons", in Great Ormond Street, W.C.I, 
founded by the now well-known anti-Jewish pioneer, the late H. H. Beamish. From them 
I got a copy of the Protocols of the Elders of Zion, in which is concentrated the main 
outline of the Jewish Plot for World Domination. Everything in this little book rang true; 
I simply could not put it down until I had finished it. When I came to investigate further, I 
realised how little information was really available for detailed study of the subject; want 
of knowledge among the public was the result of a deliberate conspiracy of Jewish 
silence; I determined to break that silence and to make the knowledge public property. 
Beamish lost no time; he appeared outside my door at Stamford on a motor-cycle side-car 
within two days of my application to "The Britons" for information. 

I have been conducting a research on the Jew Menace ever 



since, and I wish here to emphasise that I have done it in the same scientific spirit as 
when I was investigating camel diseases in the world's deserts. I have been after truth, not 
propaganda; in fact, I investigated the diseases of the body politic! 

My hands were full; research required time and concentration; running an organisation 
also required time and was apt to interfere with concentration. Progress was painfully 
slow, because although I myself could produce the means to prevent collapse, I could get 
no funds to splash about for publicity. However, after about a year, we were able to move 
to bigger offices, first at 16, Craven Street, Strand; later at No. 30. All help was purely 
volunteer and unpaid. There was nothing to pay anyone with. During the first year, a lot 
of political crooks and most of the cranks went through my hands, but as my policy was 
to entrust no new member with anything important until we had had the chance to try him 
out, they were never able to do us any harm and were all slung out in due course. We ran 
a monthly paper The Fascist, and published our pamphlets as funds permitted. It was my 
rule that no liability should be incurred until we had the funds to cover it. This may have 
helped to make progress slow, but it gave us a good name and our credit was never in 
doubt with anyone who dealt with us. We could seldom afford the expense of hiring halls 
for meetings, and it is my opinion that meetings of any kind, except at election time, have 

one use only, that is, to make your own members think something is going on. That was 
too expensive a hobby for me. Sometimes, when financed, we would have these meetings 
and then we began to find that the Jewish power would often step in and get the letting of 
the hall cancelled a few days before the advertised time of the meeting. We found that the 
League of Nations Union could be used for our purposes, often without expense to 
ourselves; that futile body had constant need to thrash up the flagging enthusiasm of its 
own members, and we found them often willing to have public debates with us, on some 
such motion that "The League of Nations, as a means of preserving peace, is not to be 
trusted". As we knew that the League of Nations was entirely sponsored by the Jews to 
ensure future wars, we used their platform to get wide publicity for exposure of the 
organised Jewish Money Power or Sanhedrin. The reactions of our highly religious 
opponents often astonished me; they seemed to think that because we opposed the 
League of Nations, we must want wars; their Christian charity seemed lacking! We 
opposed it because it was an utter fraud, and for no other reason. We told the people who 
was behind the fraud. Sometimes a local branch of the League of Nations Union would 
send to their Headquarters in London for speakers to deal with us; and we began to know 
all their arguments. Mr. Alec Wilson used to liken the League to the gear-box of a 
motor-car; to which we replied that 



we should hate to drive a motor-car with 56 gears in it, and that the only part of a 
motor-car which we could think of to compare it with was the back-fire from the exhaust! 

About three years after we had been in existence as the Imperial Fascist League, we 
found that Sir Oswald Mosley was muscling in to the Fascist field of politics. 

He had the money and we had not, and as he was a well-known figure in democratic 
politics and did not attempt to face the Jewish issue (how could he with his first wife the 
grand-daughter of Levi Leiter, the flour-cornerer of Chicago?) he took what little wind 
there was out of our sails for a time. But in his case, the political crooks and cranks 
aforesaid did not get slung out; they stayed in! In the end, there remained Mosley "fans" 
and nothing else. Mosley's advent was a disaster to Fascist development in Britain, for it 
prevented the best elements in the country from associating themselves with any Fascist 
movement for some years; Mosley's Kosher Fascism got newspaper publicity, and the 
special support of the Daily Mail, whilst the Imperial Fascist League was left in a 
position of comparative obscurity. Mosley's supporters appeared in strength to oppose us 
whenever we held a public meeting; the President of the Oxford University Jewish 
Society correctly summed up the position in writing to the Jewish Chronicle (29th 
September, 1933): "Our greatest supporters in the fight against the Imperial Fascists are 
the Mosley Fascists themselves". It was a case of Quantity versus Quality. On one 
occasion in November, 1933, a meeting of ours at Trinity Hall, Great Portland Street, was 
attacked on a pre-arranged signal by a large body of Mosleyites which greatly 
outnumbered our men and General Blakeney and other speakers were badly hurt; in my 

own case, I was attacked by 26 men, thrown to the ground, half-stripped of my clothes, 
struck on the face with a leaden "kosh" and much bruised by kicks. The object of this 
attack was to finish and silence the Imperial Fascist League, but it had the opposite effect. 
Why do Jews and Mosleyites always judge us by themselves? The "kosh", aforesaid, was 
meant to break my jaw, but it landed on the soft part between cheek-bone and upper jaw, 
so nothing "gave". Newspapers, describing this battle, said it was the biggest fight that 
had ever been seen at a London meeting; our enemies deliberately smashed as many 
chairs as they could, knowing that we, who had no large fund behind us, would have to 
pay the owners of the hall for them. 

This Mosley business was as big a nuisance to the Imperial Fascist League as it was to 
the London Police, but in a different way. Whenever we of the Imperial Fascist League 
held a meeting, we would have to waste time by explaining to the audience the difference 
between the Mosley "Fascists" and ourselves. We needed 



all our time on these occasions to cover our constructive programme and the reasons 
which made that programme necessary; the clock was always our worst enemy; there was 
so much to say. It is interesting to record that William Joyce, who was at the time a 
Mosleyite, said that the B.U.F. (the Mosley organisation) was not anti-semitic, and 
expressed "great sympathy for the Jews all over the world for the unhappy plight of their 
brethren in Germany" (report by S. H. Herinsky, Jewish Chronicle, October, 1933). Well, 
we were always about 15 years ahead of Mosley & Co! On another occasion, I had to get 
ready to defend myself for libel after pointing out in my paper that Mosley's right-hand 
man of the time, a well-known General, had been one of Aleister Crowley's greatest 
admirers and was hardly to be considered a suitable Gauleiter for the youth of Britain! 
However, the Mosleyite in question found that I had so much ammunition concerning 
him that the action threatened did not materialise. Now let me leave Mosley and his 
merry men; they always were a tiresome nuisance to us "Racialists." 

We used to hold a lecture-meeting on some aspect of Fascist policy every Wednesday 
evening at our G.H.Q. and as our offices were open until late in the evening, I would 
often not reach home until one o'clock in the morning. Progress, if measured by 
recruiting figures, was painfully slow. I had imagined, when I started, that it only needed 
the initiative of a few pioneers to get the support of influential people, but I had 
underestimated the power of Jewish money; the fact was that influential people would at 
once lose their influence as soon as it was known that they were anti-Jewish. We found 
that there was a great gulf fixed between the acquiring of knowledge on the Jew, Menace 
and the taking of any action about it. The "gulf" meant Ruin to business people, the Sack 
and Unemployment to wage-earners. Our best support came from the most independent 
sections of the community, professional men, unmarried people and those with no 
families. These would not be afraid of publicity and would give time and money to the 

For years, I went out every Friday evening, for 21/2 hours, to sell The Fascist on the kerb 
of Coventry Street; sometimes alone, sometimes with as many as five others; the more 
sellers, the greater number of papers sold per individual seller. We were sometimes 
attacked, and once a blow over the eye paralysed one of my eyelids for a week. 

In 1936, the Public Prosecutor was persuaded to charge me with seditious libel and public 
mischief on account of the July issue of The Fascist, which was outstanding in the 
information it gave. In due course, I, together with my printer, Mr. Whitehead, who was 
also a member of my organisation, appeared in the dock at Old 



Bailey. We conducted our own defence; this, because experience shows that few counsel 
can be trusted to face the threats or refuse bribes at the hands of the Jewish Power before 
the case comes to Court; employing counsel to defend a man charged with anti-Jewish 
offences is too often simply paying to be betrayed. I consulted a good solicitor, but would 
not allow myself to be represented in Court. The trial received great newspaper publicity 
and resulted in our acquittal so far as the seditious libel charge was concerned; this was 
because I was able to show that no such charge could be upheld where the object of the 
language used had been to get altered a "matter of state established", i.e., the 
naturalisation of Jews as British citizens. But there is no real defence to a Public Mischief 
charge and this had been tacked on to the major charge in order to get a conviction. We 
were found "Guilty" of Public Mischief, but "Not Guilty" of Seditious Libel; and, 
refusing, on principle, to pay any fine, I was savagely sentenced to six months' 
imprisonment. Whitehead was fined £20. Here are some of the peculiar features of this 

The Judge was a 31st degree Scottish Rite Freemason, the late Sir W. Greaves-Lord. The 
indictment had six counts: four of seditious libel, two of public mischief. The first 
seditious libel count was for intent to promote ill-will against Jews; the second for intent 
to cause hostility against them; the third for intent to cause discontent between Jew and 
Gentile; the fourth for intent to cause disaffection between Jew and Gentile. The idea was 
to get me convicted on four charges instead of one, although the charges were really 
exactly the same. The two charges of Public Mischief were for making scandalous and 
libellous statements about Jews to the injury, prejudice and disturbance of the lawful free 
and customary intercourse between Jew and Gentile and to the endangerment of peaceful 
relations between them; the second of these counts had added to this the words: — 
"thereby rendering His Majesty's subjects of Jewish faith liable to suspicion, affront and 
boycott." But anyone who writes his political views in a newspaper is sure to "affront" 
some reader! He is also sure to make his political opponents "liable to suspicion" on the 
part of his readers: if a writer advocates Trade Unionism, he will at once make Non- 
Unionists liable to "boycott"! No political writer could adequately defend himself against 
such charges; that is why they were brought against me. Yet, the Public Prosecutor never 
uses the count of Public Mischief to deal with Trade Unionists who indulge in unofficial 

strikes causing incalculable harm to other citizens. As to the practice of making multiple 
charges against a defendant, Alderman Sir Phene Neal had, only a fortnight before my 
case, severely criticised the Police at the Mansion House Justice Room for bringing two 
counts against a motorist (1) for driving in a manner dan- 



gerous to the public; (2) for driving without care and attention. Sir Phene said: "You 
cannot prosecute a man twice for the same offence" and warned the Police that if he, in 
any future such case, convicted a man on one only of the counts, he would give costs 
against the Police on the other count. All this shows how the law was stretched almost to 
bursting point to stop my writings in The Fascist. 

I was not so foolish as to appeal against the sentence; it would have been a waste of time 
as the order had obviously gone out: "Stop this man at all costs". 

I was taken in a Black Maria to Wormwood Scrubs, an "uplift" prison for first offenders 
chiefly. The uplifting process was then to try and cow the spirit of a prisoner for the first 
two months until he became an automaton, and after that to give him association with all 
sorts of criminals at meal-times. I worked a treadle sewing-machine in the tailors' shop, 
repairing prison underclothes which had come from the laundry. Here I met Mr. H. W. 
Wicks, author of The Prisoner Speaks, in which book the conditions of prison-life at the 
time are so well described, that it would be of little interest for me to describe them here. 
One incident, however, is worthy of record. The prisoners had a debating society, at 
which I was asked to lead a debate on "Democracy is a failure". I consented to this, but 
two days before the date fixed, I was visited in my cell by the Schoolmaster, who told me 
that the Governor decreed that I must not mention the Jewish question in my speech! Of 
course, I refused to speak at all under such a condition. On Christmas Day, 1936, 
hundreds of cards arrived for me, and these I was allowed to look through in the Principal 
Officer's office. Most of these cards were distinctly anti-Jewish, and served to educate 
some of the warders ! 

I earned the full remission for good conduct, which docked IVi months from my 
sentence, so I was released in February, 1937. My friends had sent a car for me, and I 
made a "triumphal" exit through a cheering crowd of Fascists who had got up very early 
to be present at the gate. 

When I had had time to get into my stride again, I wrote a book on the subject of Jewish 
Ritual Murder, the subject most strongly objected to by the prosecution at my trial. I have 
sold thousands of this book without further prosecution. It was a great moral victory over 
a corrupt pro-Jewish regime; long afterwards (12th March, 1946) Lord Vansittart, in the 
House of Lords, said that I "should have been prosecuted again and gaoled for 
considerably longer"; he refused my invitation to repeat this libellous statement in an 
unprivileged place. 



Commenting on my conviction, the New Statesman said "the calling in aid of a criminal 
charge of 'effecting a Public Mischief to cope with anti-semitism, has commanded little 
enthusiasm among lawyers; it is far too vague. Public Mischiefs which are to be re- 
strained by the criminal law must be defined with proper precision if justice is to be 

It is plain that this hostile weekly knew that justice had not been done! 

As Rabbi Leon Spitz wrote in the American Hebrew of 1st March, 1946: — "We must fill 
our jails with anti-semitic gangsters ... we must harass and prosecute our Jew baiters to 
the extreme limits of the laws". 

All that is strictly in accordance with Protocol 19 of the Elders of Zion: — "In order to 
destroy the prestige of heroism for political crime, we shall send it for trial in the 
category of thieving, murder, and every abominable and filthy crime. Public opinion will 
then confuse in its conception this category of crime with the disgrace attaching to every 
other and will brand it with the same contempt." 

But, perhaps nothing shows better the bad faith and humbug of this prosecution than the 
fact that no attempt was made to prohibit further sale of the offending issue of The 
Fascist; that is, the issue for July, 1936. 1 have sold hundreds of them since, apparently 
earning six months' imprisonment (or more?) every time a sale was made! 

The strain of conducting the Imperial Fascist League with hardly any funds and against 
savage opposition was very great; I insisted on taking two or three weeks' holiday every 
year. My wife and I once went on a conventional trip to Norway and Spitzbergen and, on 
another occasion, a very unconventional one to Iceland, where we visited very remote 
villages; sometimes we would take our holidays apart, and then I used to tour around the 
British Islands using my car as an hotel and carrying with me my bedding and enough 
food and cooking utensils to make my own breakfasts and teas. Living this independent 
life, one was able to see every part of the country; one rises early, and it is far from 
comfortable, but I argued that as I was comfortable all the rest of the year, what did it 
matter if I was not comfortable on a holiday? I have been on the top of some of our 
highest mountains whilst other people were starting their breakfasts ! I never had anything 
stolen from my car, although I often left it for hours and it had no lock. But I doubt if that 
risk could be wisely taken in these days. I used to carry a large syrup-tin which I would 
fill with good drinking water late in the afternoon, so that I was independent of 
water-supply and 



could camp anywhere. Another "tip" for anyone who wants to take a holiday-trip of this 
sort is: Before deciding on a spot on which to park for the night, have a good look at it 
before it gets too dark; see that it has a good enough approach for a car; many 
delectable-looking spots for camping are found to be inaccessible because of a ditch or 
some other obstruction; make sure that the site will not become difficult with an 
unwelcome shower of rain; if you are in country where mosquitoes or gnats are 
troublesome, aim for high altitudes and test the place by sitting for 10 minutes on the 
running-board; if the flies don't find you in 10 minutes, you are high enough to get a good 
night's rest; this is particularly important in Scotland. Needless to say, I always left the 
place in the morning without a trace of litter. Once you have found your camping-ground, 
clear out for half-a-mile or so until it gets dark, for that, in some parts of the country, is 
the only way to avoid the nuisance of nosey parkers or village idiots! Avoid sandy waste 
ground containing the remains of tramps' fires; the tramps leave livestock behind. 

On one trip of this kind, I had an adventure with a bull which was perhaps worthy of 
record; I reproduce this account of it by the courtesy of Country Life, which published it 
under the caption Toreador in Teesdale in their issue of 15th June, 1945. 

Toreador in Teesdale 

By Arnold Leese. 

Published in "Country Life", 15th June, 1945, and reprinted by 

kind permission. 

About eight years ago, I was motoring up from the South of England to spend a holiday 
in Scotland. My car was a modest Morris-Cowley tourer, and, towards the end of a long 
day, it had covered well over three hundred miles since early morning, which for me was 
a record; I was feeling I had had about enough. When approaching 
Middleton-in-Teesdale, the car gave me that queer sensation of diminished power 
associated with the first stage of a slipping clutch. 

Then my Mistake was made; the trouble should have been seen to at once; it wasn't my 
first experience with a slipping clutch, but my mind was made up to get across the 
watershed over into Alston before camping for the night, and I drove on. It was silly, but 
having broken the back of my journey in one day's driving, I was perhaps unduly exalted 
in spirit. The slipping went through all the usual stages from slight to bad and from bad to 
worse, until, several miles before the divide, my car only surmounted a sharp 



ascent after a desperate struggle, so I decided that it was impossible to "make" Alston and 
that it was better to camp at once and settle my troubles in the morning. It was now 10.30 
p.m., but still fairly light. I always carried my food, water and bedding and was quite 

independent of hotels, so there was no worry at all on that score. By this time the car 
would not move under its own power and had to be man-handled off the road; I brought it 
to a standstill across the entry of a gate into a grass field. I began to make things 
ship-shape for the night; a few adjustments converted my car into a comfortable 

Then the bellowing began, getting louder every second as a Shorthorn bull quickly 
approached the gate on the field side to see who and what it was that dared to invade his 
privacy. He was a fine fellow, a roan, and he stood there bellowing and pawing up the 
ground with his foot. 

Now it is a queer enough coincidence that my car should have been immovably fixed 
opposite the gate of a field with a loose bull in it; there couldn't have been many such 
fields adjoining a main road in the whole of the north of England! The bull had the run of 
two or three fields and had not been in sight when I was scouting around, gut perhaps it 
was almost as much a coincidence that I, to whom this incident occurred, was no stranger 
to bulls and was, in fact, accustomed to them, which, of course, meant that I had acquired 
a respect for them without that petrifying fear of the unfamiliar which would have been 
felt by 999 motorists out of every thousand on the road that night if it had happened to 

My respect for bulls is due not only to their strength and activity, and their uncertain 
attitude towards strangers, owing to their limited scope for human acquaintance, but also 
to the fact that the bull has the brains of the herd, as any cowboy from the ranges would 

The bull and I looked at one another, and I, for my part, did some rapid thinking, which 
however, resulted in no conclusion more satisfactory than wishing I was safe at home. 
The bull came to a more definite decision; he took a pace forward, down went his head 
with his horns under the second bar of the gate, from the bottom, and in a trice the gate 
was off its hinges, although still across the entry. I clung desperately to the end next the 
hinges and managed to re-hang it on to the top-hinge and then rushed to the other end, 
where leverage to some extent cancelled out the bull's vastly superior strength. All I 
could do against such power was to try and keep the gate across the entry, no matter at 
what angle. Time after time, the bull tried to lift the gate out of his way, on his horns, but 
I was able, with great exertion, to frustrate him. The 



effort was considerable and I was already tired after my long drive. 

There was only one house in sight, for we were near the head of the Tees valley, the road 
was lonely and we were in bleak sheep country, with a few fields lining the river. Night 
was falling. 

If I could have stepped back to the car, I could have reached some rope, none too strong, 
with which to slip clove-hitches on the gate-ends; if the rope did not break, it might have 
puzzled the bull. But I could not leave the gate for a second; the bull's movements were 
quick and he was persevering. Had I let go of the gate, he would have been through it in 
no time. 

Quite early in the struggle, as we stood panting and regarding one another, I recognised 
that he was not objecting to my own presence, but that of the car. I could even turn down 
his lip to see his age, which was three years; I could scratch his head and rub it behind his 
horns, which he seemed to like. If it had merely been necessary to save my skin, I could 
have done it easily enough by hopping over a wall into another field. But he was angry, 
angry with the car for standing there and if he got through that gateway my holiday in 
Scotland would be postponed until the next year, as he would have broken up the car, 
particularly its top-hamper and windscreen, and, with the strength he had in his mighty 
neck, he might have directed that gate-lifting gift of his towards over-turning the car. So 
it was necessary to stay, nearly deafened with his bellowing at close quarters. 

We struggled on and often the gate was hanging on his horns, loose at both ends, but I 
was always able to drag it back across the entry before he could disentangle himself from 
it and get through. 

It was borne in upon me that this was the first evening of a holiday much overdue as a 
rest from overwork, and I had to laugh, though without mirth. 

By now, it was 1 1 p.m. and dark; tired as I was, the pace was too hot to last. The bull was 
tolerant enough of my presence, but viciously anxious to liquidate the car. We wrestled 
on until about a quarter before midnight. 

At last came a slow footstep up the hill — a farm labourer returning home from the 
fleshpots of Middleton or some lesser place. He quickly took in the situation as I 
explained to him, and trudged off to get help. Before he left, I got him to hand me the 
ropes out of the car, with which I fixed both ends of the gate to the posts. As soon as he 
had gone, the bull burst one of these ropes with a powerful jerk, but the prospect of early 
relief to my troubles encouraged me to hang on. 



Another half-hour or so and the owner, with a couple of men with heavy sticks and three 
dogs, arrived and drove the bull into a distant field where I could hear him bellowing 
through the night. 

When they had gone, I dossed down in the car, dead beat. In the morning, a postman, 
passing on a bicycle, took a message from me to a garage in Middleton and, before three 

o'clock in the afternoon, I was again on the road north. It was my first real holiday in 
Scotland, and well worth the trouble of getting there. 



The Jewish War. 

We of the Imperial Fascist League did all we could to prevent the outbreak of war 
between Britain and Germany. We foresaw that whoever won such a war, Britain would 
be ruined. We knew that the Jews, assisted by the Freemasons, were resolved to destroy 
Hitler before he destroyed them; all the chief vehicles of propaganda were in their hands, 
and all the money, too. We made enough progress to be able to employ two whole-time 
men on a pittance, both of whom could have earned a good living at their own trades, but 
preferred to do our work for a bare subsistence. The solid nucleus of good men and 
women I now had around me could not be penetrated by the spies of the enemy with any 
hope of success. I was greatly overworked, attempting the impossible by having to 
administer an organisation and do a lot of research and writing for our paper, all at the 
same time. One evening, when addressing a meeting, I collapsed; it was sheer exhaustion 
of nervous energy and there was nothing, then, organically wrong. 

Then came Munich, and a year afterwards, the War itself. It was unfortunate that I was 
actually on the sick list recovering from a gastric ulcer when the war broke out. Knowing 
that to carry on in the London office in war-time would not be possible, I closed down 
our G.H.Q. at once; the branches that could not pay their own way closed down, too. Two 
months of milk dieting, followed by a further period of restriction cured my complaint; 
which never gave me any more trouble; it was brought on undoubtedly by worry and by 
rushing into activity, habitually, too soon after meals. 

In May, 1940, the Government put into practice its infamous regulation known as 18B, 
which allowed the Home Secretary to cause the arrest of anyone for indefinite periods of 
detention if he had "reasonable cause to believe" they had been recently concerned in acts 
prejudicial to the public safety or the defence of the realm or in the preparation or 
instigation of such acts and that by reason thereof it is necessary to exercise control over 
them. As the Government and the War were both Jewish, this regulation was construed as 
being applicable to anyone anti- Jewish. There was no trial; you were just arrested and 
taken away. There was a humbugging affair called an "advisory committee", to which the 
detained people could appeal, but it was composed of people appointed by the Home 



Secretary himself; no evidence on oath was taken and the decisions could be reversed by 
the Home Secretary if he liked. It was a disappointment to me that so very few of the 
detained people refrained from using this Committee; if everyone had refused to 
recognise it, something more akin to justice might have been forced upon the 

About the 24th May, 1940, a large number of arrests were made under this regulation, 
including those of Capt. A. M. Ramsay, M.P. and Sir Oswald Mosley and his staff. I was 
not interfered with at this time, but I did not trust the look of things, and I began to picnic 
out in the country during the day-time, it being summer, only returning home at night. 
Getting tired of this, I went to the seaside to stay with friends for a fortnight and then, as 
nothing had happened at home, I returned to live there openly and normally. But I took 
certain precautions and arranged hide-outs for use if necessary at the homes of friends 
and provided for a certain signal to be made visible from the road, to prevent my 
returning from a walk to find detectives waiting for me inside my own home. I also wrote 
a letter to be delivered to any detective calling to arrest me when I was out, in which I 
explained that I would resist arrest, knowing 18B to be unconstitutional and illegal. 

I was returning from a visit to the library in Guildford when I became aware that the 
signal was against me. I turned in my tracks, left the town with what I stood up in, and 
retired to a rural hideout. Next day, I asked my wife to join me, as I was afraid that she 
might be taken herself as a method of getting me. She told me what had happened. 

My house had been surrounded by Police before the detective knocked; my wife went to 
the door and was told that the house was to be searched; this did not prevent the signal 
being made! My letter was given to the detective and seemed to annoy him, as I am not 
polite to those who take pay to do dirty work for the Jews. The Police spent IVi hours in 
my house and took away a bundle of papers; on being challenged by my wife on their 
right (?) to remove my property, they promised to return everything in a fortnight; this 
promise they carried out, and asked for me again, without response. I expect that after 
this the house was watched, and one month later, two stupid-seeming policemen called 
late one evening and asked my wife, who by this time had returned home, where I was; 
they left unenlightened. 

Meanwhile I had, at first, lived quietly at Hide-out No. 1, but detectives came one day to 
visit my host, who was a Fascist; they had no idea that I was there and I listened to their 
examination of him although, so far as distance is concerned, I was within 



arm's length of them, but I remained undiscovered and unscathed! After they had left, I 
left, too, fearing to involve my kind host in trouble if it was found out later that they had 
been sheltering me. I travelled up to London and established myself in Hide-out No. 2. 
Here, I was again with friends, and I used to absent myself from about 10 a.m. until 7 

p.m. visiting various parts of London, where I could find instruction or amusement. I was 
able, now and then, to meet my wife and spend the day with her. 

In the autumn of 1940 came the invasion scare; I felt I had better take a few extra risks to 
be at home to offer what protection I could to my wife. I reached home safely and lived 
there three weeks, during which one of the rare bombings of Guildford occurred; I slept 
and worked during the day and exercised in the garden at night. The invasion-scare was 
now over, so I again made myself scarce, returning to my London Hide-out. Four weeks 
later, I made another stay at home, but I fear I must have been careless enough to allow 
someone to see me at a window or in the garden, because, on 9th November, I was doing 
some indexing in my bedroom about noon, when my wife came running in to tell me that 
detectives had burst into the house and were halfway up the stairs! I seized a thick stick, 
which I always had close to me throughout the time I had been "on the run", and crept out 
on to the landing. There I saw a plain-clothes detective looking into the linen cupboard; I 
crept up behind him and could have brained him, but I simply said: "What the hell are 
you doing in my house?" He turned round quickly with his hand in his pocket and just 
then a uniformed man came along the passage behind me, so I backed into a corner and 
then there followed a sort of parley. I told them the facts and pointed out the dirty work 
they were doing for pay. They replied that they were ignorant men who had been ordered 
to make this arrest and if anything happened to them, others would follow to do it. 
Reasonable enough, that, for morons! Eventually they rushed me and a long struggle 
ensued; I did what I could, but there were two of them, each as strong as I was, and 
twenty years' younger. My wife tried to help me and was, afterwards, fined £20 for it! At 
last they got me to the head of the stairs and then uniformed men came rushing up the 
staircase, the first one waving a revolver. This made the force against me overwhelming, 
which I took to be the only excuse for calling off resistance. Then I was taken down to 
Guildford Police Station, where, after searching, I was placed in a filthy cell, below 
ground, with stinking W.C. complete; I smashed everything breakable and tore the 
noisome blankets into strips and stuffed them down the W.C. This I did because I did not 
intend to be spirited away into detention without the people of Guildford, at least, getting 
to know. The Superintendent charged me at the Police Court with the damage, for which 



was fined, but, of course, would not pay; and I was given one month's imprisonment 
instead. Handcuffed to a policeman, I was taken in a police-van to Wandsworth prison 
where I served the month without incident worth mentioning; after that, I was handcuffed 
to a conscientious objector and then removed to Brixton prison as an 18B detainee. 

Here, of course, I met many friends and some Mosleyite enemies. For the first fortnight, 
the imprisonment amounted to solitary confinement excepting for about four hours a day, 
when we mixed together. The men who had taken no precautions to get "on the run" had 
mostly been already in detention for six months, and at first they had had a scandalously 

bad treatment, but gradually, as the prison staff began to realise that their prisoners were 
not quite what the Home Secretary had intimated they were, i.e., traitors to their country 
and potential saboteurs, the detainees got improved conditions. Within a fortnight of my 
arrival, we had our cell-doors opened all day until 8 p.m. and we had about five hours in 
the winter and more in the summer in which we could be out-of-doors in the prison yard. 
Needless to say, we wore our own clothes, and absolutely refused when it was suggested 
to do work. Our friends could bring us food-parcels once a week. Otherwise we got 
prison-diet, although those who could afford it could have meals sent in from a restaurant 

I was disappointed to find how little fight there was in the average detainee; there was no 
chance of "starting anything"; there was no lack of wretched lick-spittles ready to betray 
anyone who organised combined action for escape or revolt; worse, I found that nearly all 
had already been before the Advisory Committee, and although I never would, my 
example came too late to have any effect. 

After about a month of this, I went to the Governor, a wretched nervous wreck of a man, 
frightened of his own shadow, and complained of certain penal conditions I found myself 
under, contrary to law. His reply was: "My good man, don't you know that there are a lot 
of people outside who would like to have you all shot and that you may consider yourself 
lucky to be alive?" That gives an idea of what the Mug-in-the-Street had been told about 
us detainees! 

My wife came every week, loaded with food-parcels, and although the official length of 
the visits was supposed to be only 15 minutes, this was such an obvious scandal that they 
become in practice about 40 minutes. I endeavoured to get this increased to an hour, but 
was always told that there was neither staff nor accommodation sufficient to lengthen the 
period; this was utter nonsense, but we could do nothing about it. By the way, in the 



camps run by the military, two-hour visits were allowed. 

On 30th December, 1940, 1 became aware that I had been grossly libelled in an article in 
the Empire News for 27th October, 1940. Under the caption "Ribbentrop's Spy-Net", 
ex-Detective-Sergeant East had written that I had often attended German Nazi meetings 
in Westbourne Terrace and at Cleveland Terrace, Bayswater and at Porchester Hall, and 
that I had been to Nuremberg where I contacted the Fichter-Bund of Hamburg. As I had 
never attended any German meeting anywhere, and had never set foot in Germany, I 
wrote to the Editor requesting him to withdraw this libel, but the only result was that he 
published my denial of its truth, without withdrawing it. This man East was a detective 
who used to visit our G.H.Q. before the war, and whom we had always treated with 
courtesy as a policeman concerning whom there was nothing to hide. There was no 

remedy against this kind of libellous outrage; the Mug-in-the-Street was far beyond any 
ability to make an unbiassed judgment, and Juries are generally composed of such Mugs. 
By the way, I have often been grossly libelled, but have so little faith in the law under the 
Jewish-Masonic regime that I have always let it go rather than take action in the Courts. 
Anything seemed better than resorting to the law courts for redress. I was rather inclined 
to regard being libelled by the Jewish Press as an honour which did me no harm and often 
did me good. Perhaps the limit was reached when the American Daily Worker said that I 
had been convicted of rape and sodomy! Surely that is a record in "smear"! 

At my request, my wife sent my war-medals to H.M. the King, saying that it did not seem 
proper to retain medals commemorative of services which had evidently been forgotten. 

On 24th January, thirty of us were transferred to a camp at Ascot, where we were 
confined with many others within barbed wire and guarded by military; six weeks later, 
we were entrained and taken to a similar camp at Huyton, Liverpool. I then began a 
hunger-strike, partly to prevent being taken on to the Isle of Man, partly to try and break 
the whole abominable system. I did not try and get the participation of others as I knew 
that the strength of a chain is only that of its weakest link and the first man who broke 
down in a collective hunger-strike would be in danger of breaking the resolution of the 
rest. Actually one or two men did start hungerstriking at the same time, but they soon 
broke down. I was living with old comrades of the Imperial Fascist League, and kept my 
hunger-strike secret for the first ten days or so, as I thought that if the authorities got to 
know about it too soon, they might make my conditions unpleasant in other respects. On 
13th March, I allowed the news to drift "across the wire" and I was sent for by a Captain 



Petrie, a Jew whose real name was Steinthal, who threatened me with proceedings for 
conduct prejudicial to good discipline! I laughed in his face, which he buried in his 
hands. I was thoroughly examined by two doctors whose report was sent to the 
Home-Office. 'During the past fortnight the only food I had had was an occasional 
teaspoon of sugar to correct acidity (this works like a charm) and two doughbuns on one 
occasion on which I was unable to resist this rare treat! On 18th March, I was escorted by 
two soldiers to Brixton prison again. I was too weak to try and make a break. The first 
afternoon, I was allowed to mix with my fellow-detainees, but thereafter I was kept in 
solitary confinement in the hospital of the prison. The Chief Medical Officer informed 
me that he had instructions to feed me when he thought it was necessary; I bluffed him to 
it (I not knowing exactly how the law stood) that if he did, I should take action against 
him for assault. 

I had meanwhile informed my wife by code what was going on, and asked her to try and 
gain publicity for my hunger-strike, which she did. I asked a certain lawyer to come and 
see me, but he let me down by saying in front of a "screw" (warder) that he could do 
nothing. I also sent for a doctor I knew to come and examine me once a week to prevent 

any dirty work in the Prison Hospital. Owing to interference, tiie publicity I needed was 
not developing quickly enough; I had been relying on a certain lawyer visiting me, but 
my letters to him never got to him. I realised that as I was now getting weak, having had 
no food for 25 days except a small slice of bread once a week to prevent my alimentary 
arrangements from ceasing to function, I should not get publicity in time before my 
condition got dangerous, and I knew that Mr. R. R. Stokes, M.P. was going to ask a 
question about me in the House of Commons. That would be a long time ahead; so for the 
next 10 days I took a slice of bread, sometimes with margerine, twice a day, doing this 
secretly from the rations of friendly co-prisoners; no doubt, as I was weighed every day, 
the authorities began to smell a rat before the end of this time. By 8th April, I found out 
the date of Mr. Stokes's question, which would be 23rd April, so I went back on to all-out 
hunger-strike again. Frequent threats of forcible feeding were offered to me during this 
time. As they could not break me down that way, and knowing quite well about Mr. 
Stokes's pending question, they did actually twice forcibly feed me the day before! It was 
very unpleasant, as it was done with a probang pushed down the gullet, but as a 
veterinary surgeon I am familiar with the process and sustained no hurt except for a 
soreness in the throat. I was far too weak to resist. As soon as I knew the question could 
not be stopped, I ended my hunger-strike (50 days, less 10 days in the middle on minimal 
food) on evening of 22nd April. 

Mr. Stokes, M.P., had asked whether the Home Secretary 



knew I was on hunger-strike against wrongful detention; and whether he would give an 
assurance that I was not being detained because of my well-known anti-Freemason and 
anti-semitic views. To the latter part of the question, Mr. Peake, Under-Secretary to 
Home Office, said it would not be proper for him to state the reason for my detention 
except that it came under Regulation 18B. 

So I achieved little of public importance by my strike; but I prevented my export to Isle 
of Man, and my wife was able to see me every week almost throughout my detention. I 
have every reason to believe that from the health standpoint, I gained enormously from 
this unpleasant experience; I recovered from the effects of starvation without any trouble 
at all; and should any reader ever be in the unfortunate position of having to undergo a 
hunger-strike, I can assure him that the acidity of the first few days vanishes at once if a 
teaspoonful of sugar is taken; and that a small slice of bread once a week, which has little 
food value, prevents paralysis of the digestive process through non-use. Throughout my 
strike, I had no anxiety as to my own condition; but I caused it in others, and I 
understand, helped to send the Governor in a breakdown to a Home! I had no intention of 
killing myself, but I knew from former prison experience how nervous the Home Office 
is when prisoners who should not be in prison are taken, ill there, and there was always a 
reasonable chance of getting such publicity against 1 8B that the whole thing might break 

down. Well, it didn't, but if others had tried as hard as I did to smash it, it might have 
broken down. 

On 30th May, 1941, 1 wrote the Home Office for the precise reasons of my detention, but 
the reply gave me no more information than I already had. I waited one year (!) and wrote 
again, on 12th June, 1942. This time, no reply whatever was vouchsafed. So on 28th 
August, 1942, 1 employed a lawyer to ask for the information. (This was nearly two years 
after my arrest!) This elicited the information that the said A. S. Leese was 
Director-General of the Imperial Fascist League, "a pro-German and Fascist organisation, 
and in that capacity was responsible for the propaganda produced and disseminated by 
the League against the prosecution of the War and the Allied cause." I got my solicitor to 
demand what specifically was objected to in the "propaganda" mentioned. It took six 
weeks to get a reply to this from the Home Office. Then it appeared that it was pretended 
that the items which had caused my detention were: (1) publications made since the war 
by Angles News Service for which I had no responsibility (although I thoroughly agreed 
with everything that the Service did); (2) a leaflet which I published called Leese for 
Peace, in which I advocated peace and quoted Lord Halifax's statements as to Why we 
were at war, criticised them piece-meal and pointed out we were simply fighting for the 
Jews. (This leaflet's wording is reproduced in Appendix); (3) a printed 



poem— ONWARD CHRISTIAN SOLDIERS, which I did not write and did not 
disseminate, nor do I know to this day who the author was ! As to being pro-German, I 
made it quite clear that I was against the return of former German colonies captured in 
the first World War; I admitted that I was anti-Jewish, and that I considered Hitler was 
right in the main, as I do now. 

That seemed to be construed by the Home Office as being hostile to my own country! I 
repeat that the only thing that I felt could be usefully done was to get the war stopped, so 
that neither Britain nor Germany would be reduced to the level of minor powers, over 
which the Jews would easily preside, as has happened. 

In February, 1943, the Home Secretary made it clear by his evasive replies to my lawyer's 
letters that it would be a waste of time to pursue the matter further. 

In the middle of December of this year, an enlarged prostate gland, of which I had been 
aware for some years, became obstructive and a few days later, the Home Office sent a 
surgeon to examine me. This resulted in my removal from Brixton Prison to Horton 
Emergency Hospital, where I was operated upon with great success, although still "in 
detention"; at last, when I was ready to leave hospital, I was released from detention on 
2nd February, 1944, after three years and four months' imprisonment without trial and for 
committing no crime! I was then in an extremely weak state and it took all my wife's best 
efforts to provide food enough to allow me to recover strength and health. 

This is not a political treatise, but before leaving the subject of Regulation 18B, I would 
like to quote one or two items of information concerning it which have had little 
publicity. One is a statement in the Sunday Times, 22nd June, 1947, that when war came. 
Lord Rothschild "joined the Security Branch and was active in carrying out the 
Government's internment policy". The other concerns the test case taken up to the house 
of Lords by a Jew calling himself Robert W. Liversidge, as to the validity of Detention 
under 18B. Judgment was given against this Jew and in favour of the Home Secretary, 
but there was a dissenting Judge, Lord Atkin, who likened the decision of the other 
Judges to a conversation in Alice through the Looking Glass, for they had maintained that 
the words "If a man has" meant "If a man thinks he has"! Thus was "Justice" in war-time! 

Finally, I quote from my book The Jewish War of Survival, Chapter II: — "In our past 
wars, when we were not under full Jewish control as we are now, individuals who 
disagreed with the supposed righteousness of their country's cause were allowed to say so 


Plate VIII. The late H. H. Beamish. 


licly, so long as they did not actually interfere with the war itself. History records the 
following instances among many." Here follow the names of Pitt, Chas. Jas. Fox, John 
Bright, Lloyd George, Ramsay Macdonald and Herbert Morrison. 

In Chapter XVII of the same book, Mr. Herbert Morrison's exact words are quoted from 
the Labour Leader, 3rd September, 1914, when he attempted to prevent people from 
joining the forces in the first World War. 

And Morrison was the Home Secretary to whom the working of 1 8B was entrusted in the 
second World War! 



The Cold War After the Hot One. 

I was now getting a trifle long in the tooth, certainly too old to undertake successfully the 
management of an active anti-Jewish movement. When William Joyce was brought back 
a prisoner to England, I offered, if he thought fit to defend himself by justifying his 
actions, to give evidence about the Jewish menace; but he took a different line. I had only 
actually met him once; there can be no doubt that he took the wrong action in the war, but 
he believed himself justified in what he did, and he died like a hero. His conviction was 
certain, but another sort of defence, which he should have conducted himself because he 
was quite capable of doing so, might, at least, have saved his life. 

Together with my old friend, H. H. Beamish, I offered to give evidence on the Jewish 
issue in defence of the Nuremberg accused; with the help of other good friends, I had 
managed to publish my book The Jewish War of Survival in typescript, the production of 
which was carried out under the greatest difficulties, as it was impossible to find a 
publisher who could print it without fear of reprisals, legal or illegal. At least it had a 
printed cover! A copy of this book was offered through the International Military 
Tribunal to Herman Goering's counsel and accepted by him. Probably that fact saved me 
from "persecution" by the Public Prosecutor, who was, at that time, being egged on 
against me. I may mention here that ultimately I managed, thanks to good friends in 
South Africa and in the U.S.A., to get this book properly printed in two editions. 

In 1944, 1 began to publish, as an occasional report at irregular intervals, a typescript 
effort, Gothic Ripples, which was intended to keep already Jew-wise people up-to-date in 
recent developments. This soon became well-known in anti- Jewish circles all over the 
world. I was thereby exposed to frequent abuse from the Jew-controlled press and it was 
often the subject of questions in the House to the Home Secretary. 

In 1946, the Lord Chancellor in the House of Lords revealed that there were five people 
in this country who would not be allowed passports if they applied for them; although I 
did not want a passport, I applied for one and was refused! I suppose I might be expected 
to annoy the Jews wherever I went? Well, I hope so! 



Two Dutch prisoners-of-war who had been fighting in the German Army and had been 
captured, caused me a lot of trouble. They escaped from Kempton Park prison-camp in 
British uniforms, and having seen my address in one of the "smearing" articles about me, 
published from time to time in the papers, made straight for my house in Guildford where 
they arrived on 13th June, 1946. As I had always opposed the practice of keeping 
prisoners-of-war illegally confined long after the time when there was any possibility of 
war being resumed, which is contrary to the Hague War Regulations, I was willing to 
assist them to avoid re-arrest. I kept them in my house for two nights and found out for 
them that the Argentine Embassy was in charge of a man likely to be sympathetic to 
escaped prisoners-of-war. Then I passed them on to friends in the East End of London. I 
heard afterwards that they had interviewed the First Counsellor at the Argentine Embassy 
with a view to obtaining passages on a ship to South America, but that he had said he 
could not risk it, although he did not give them away. The two Dutchmen had agreed with 
me that if they failed at the Embassy, they would surrender, but, unfortunately for me, 
they changed their minds and stayed on with my friends. Eventually they were arrested 
on 15th December, 1946, at Worthing; upon which they seem to have immediately given 
all their protectors away, including myself, presumably under what is politely called 
"pressure", for they were not the type of men to betray us, a crime which seems, to me, 
worse than murder. However, the seven of us who had assisted them were duly charged 
with conspiracy to assist them and we all got the same sentence of twelve months' 
imprisonment. As I had had previous convictions, I was treated like an "old lag" and 
confined at Pentonville, the worst prison in the country. However, I survived this and 
after earning, with some difficulty, all my remission marks, I was released after eight 
months and returned home on 17th November, 1947, although in a poor state. 

An item of note about this trial was that one of the Dutchmen refused to answer a 
question put to him as to what had happened to him after his arrest to induce him so 
dishonorably to give away his benefactors (it was possible to ask this question without 
admitting guilt because four of the defendants had pleaded guilty). The Judge ultimately 
allowed the witness, who had, of course, sworn to speak "the whole truth", to answer the 
question by writing something on a piece of paper which was then handed to the judge. 
The Judge did not divulge what was thereon written, so the case continued with this 
important question unanswered as far as jury. Defendants and the Public were concerned. 
In this way, the defendants were prevented from completely discrediting the statements 
made to the authorities in writing by the prisoners-of-war; those statements may have 
been made under threats or under torture. 



Some people thought that the whole case was a "frame-up" to entrap me; but a 
consideration of all the circumstances, which are not, of course, detailed here, does not 
bear out the possibility of this. I had cheerfully broken a rotten law, took a risk, and 
abided by the result. 

Shortly after my release, a Jewish Veterinary Surgeon tried to get my name struck off the 
roll of the Royal College of Veterinary Surgeons on account of my conviction. I did not 
bother to attend the meeting of the Council, as I cared little whether I was on the roll or 
not; I had finished with that part of my life and, indeed, was getting out-of-date 
professionally, but I defended myself by letter. To cut the matter short, the attempt to get 
me off the register received no support. 

One thing which requires reform seems to have completely escaped the notice of Prison 
Authorities. It is this. It is the custom to treat prisoners more severely when they have 
been "inside" before. They are put under a much more burdensome regime than first 
offenders, with whom they do not mix. But offenders who have been convicted of 
offences and have paid fines, so saving themselves from prison are when later for other 
offences sent to prison, treated as first offenders! It cannot be right to make some men 
suffer and allow others to escape the consequences of having previous convictions, just 
because the former have gone to prison rather than pay fines, as I did myself in 1936. 

The prisoners with whom I found myself in Pentonville were often men with many 
previous convictions, generally criminals of the meaner type. I found it almost impossible 
to converse with them; they are generally entirely self-centred; they could not understand 
why I had helped escaped prisoners-of-war to evade re-arrest; their attitude was: — What 
did you make out of it? What did you get out of it? I believe that most of these habitual 
criminals have had bad mothers or no mothering at all, and that some might be reformed 
by changing their attitude from one of pure self-centredness to one of consideration for 
other people, by argument free from religious dogma. Prisoners of this kind hate being 
locked up in their cells for long hours by themselves: they have no interests to fall back 
on, and their thoughts must all be unhappy ones; they would much prefer to be working 
in the shop with other men around them. The reverse is the case when cultured men find 
themselves in Prison; these are only too glad to get away from their fellow-prisoners and 
to feel themselves in privacy. 

My old friend and colleague, the anti-Jewish pioneer, Henry Hamilton Beamish, died 
suddenly in Rhodesia, on 27th March, 1948. About two years before this, he had 
informed me of his 



intention to leave me what money he could, if anything happened to him. Eventually I 
received it and paid it into my anti-Jewish funds, for the understanding was that it should 
be used as I thought fit in the fight against the Jewish Menace. This has strengthened my 

position as regards assisting younger men and promising movements, and in many other 
ways. One does not have to make everything pay for itself, as of yore! 

I wish Beamish might have known of my legal victory of 1951 ! Well, perhaps he does! In 
this case. Rex versus Leese, I was charged with a defamatory libel against the Chief of 
the Metropolitan Police, Sir Harold Scott; I conducted my own case, the prosecuting 
counsel being a half- alien Buddhist, Mr. Christmas Humphreys; although I never thought 
that the Crown had a case, I was every apprehensive of the result, for by that time I had 
had experience of how British Courts could twist the law against anti-Jew "offenders". 
Anyhow, I won, and the importance of the victory can best be measured by the loudness 
of the silence in the Press about it. As soon as the result was known, the Jewish iron 
curtain came crashing down, and it was with some difficulty that many people deeply 
interested in the case could find out what had really happened. Some enthusiasts thought 
that it registered a turn in the tide. I trust they will not prove to have been too optimistic! 

The alleged "defamatory libel" was in an article in Gothic Ripples, dated 14th August, 
1950, viz: — "Police in the East End of London appear to be instructed by their Jewish 
Chief to knock off any street-corner orator who dares to mention the word Jew in any 
derogatory sense. I take a hard view of Police Officers who, to earn pay, carry out such 
vile orders". My defence was that neither of the two ingredients necessary for an 
indictment for defamatory libel were present in this case, viz: — reasonable cause to 
believe that a breach of the peace might be caused by the words used, and anything 
amounting to defamation. I made it clear that I charged Sir Harold Scott with Jewish 
prejudice and Jewish bias, but argued that as prejudice and bias were not held 
consciously, there was no attack on the Jew's character. If a Jew holds an appointment, he 
will have the prejudices and bias of a Jew, and any journalist has the right (and duty, in 
my case) to point it out in the public interest. 

The judge was Mr. Justice Dodson, Recorder of London, who had sentenced me to 
twelve months' imprisonment in the same Court in 1947! The jury were only nine 
minutes considering the verdict, which was Not Guilty. Thus, a deliberate attempt on the 
part of the Jews to use the Public Prosecutor to silence my anti-Jewish voice, was 
crushingly defeated, and I received congratulatory messages from anti-Jewish friends all 
over the world. 



I was stimulated by this victory to complete this Autobiography which was begun many 
years ago! I am 72 years' old now, and perhaps my political adventures may not yet be 

Let me close this record, however, on an animal note. After the loss of my St. Bernard, 
and after my first anti-Jewish conviction in 1936, 1 decided not to acquire another dog. I 
foresaw that the Jews would try and get me back into prison, in which case I felt that to 

have a dog at home would add to my own distress in prison, and would not be fair on the 
dog. But, in 1935, we adopted a ginger male kitten, and Nandy II has been a constant 
source of entertainment to us for over 15 years; it was through him that I became aware 
of a sense which some animals (of species not too far removed from the feral) possess 
which gives them some sort of radar-like warning, presumably vague, of coming 
calamity. It may be that some humans of primitive type may share this sense with them. 
As has been narrated, I was arrested in 1940 under 18B and taken away for over three 
years; and in 1947, 1 was imprisoned for eight months. During the two days before these 
events, Nandy would hardly leave me; he followed me about all over the house and 
garden, and it was so marked that on the second of these occasions, my wife became 
convinced that I was in for a stiff term of imprisonment. Nandy was right both times ! It is 
all the more interesting to record that in 1950, when the Government tried to silence me 
by a criminal libel charge, Nandy took no special notice of me when I departed for the 
Old Bailey; and this actually gave us some encouragement! And he was right again, 
because I was acquitted; he was about the only one who expected that result! 

As I write, he sleeps, soundly, beside me; in his 16th year, not just a Cat, but One of Us!